Transmigrating to the BeastWorld,I Picked Up an Adorable BeastHusband!-Chapter 37: Cooking wars(1)

The cooking space gradually grew noisy, firewood was dragged closer and clay pots were rinsed.

The fish were divided into two neat piles and laid out on palm leaves.

Even those who had nothing to do lingered nearby, pretending to scrape roots or wash stones while secretly watching.

After all, food was serious business any day.

If this human truly knew something new, it might mean fuller stomachs.

If she failed, then Dana would never let her hear the end of it.

Ningning crouched down beside her share of the ingredients.

There were about 30 fish in her section.

Several yams and sweet potatoes.

About three baskets of wild greens.

Nothing fancy and very primitive.

She rested her chin lightly on her palm and thought for a moment.

Then she said quietly, "Doudou, open the cookbook. I was thinking of making some kind of Chinese food."

A familiar voice answered lazily in her head.

[Opening.]

Recipes flashed past one after another in the system interface.

Steamed fish with ginger.

Braised carp.

Stir-fried shredded potato.

Fish porridge.

But each one required things she didn’t have yet.

Soy sauce.

Rice wine.

Scallions.

Oil.

Ningning sighed.

"As expected..."

[There isn’t a suitable Chinese recipe with these exact ingredients. As you know, you having begun farming or any production so these items aren’t in your possession. And I won’t magically make them appear for you]

Doudou said.

[But don’t panic. We can improvise.]

She raised a brow. "Improvise how?"

[The fish is fresh and the tubers are filling. If you steam or stone-bake them together, keep the nutrients, and use herbs to remove the fishy smell, it should work. Simple methods suit this era better anyway.]

That made sense.

Too many complicated steps would only draw suspicion.

Simple food that was healthy was safer.

Ningning nodded to herself, then looked up.

"Xiaoli."

"Yes?"

"Bring me all the spices and herbs you have. Everything. Even the bitter ones."

Xiaoli blinked. "All of them?"

"Mm. I want to see."

Without asking more, Xiaoli went to fetch several small woven baskets.

Soon, dried leaves, roots, seeds, and crushed powders were laid out in front of Ningning.

The smell hit her nose all at once.

"Doudou time to identify. If we could get some lemon grass that would be nice."

[Mhm. Your chances are really slim girl. You’ll have to build a stash. You won’t find them randomly. But let’s see what we have here, there are different varieties here. Dried leaves, seeds, powder, roots. Let’s start with the dried leaves.]

One by one, names appeared in her mind.

Wild ginger leaves.

Mountain garlic.

A type of pepper seed.

Bitterleaf.

Something similar to perilla.

Her eyes brightened slightly.

These were enough.

They weren’t authentic, but close enough.

If she made something like a rustic stone-steamed fish with herbs and mashed tubers, something similar to a countryside version of Chinese steamed fish, it would still taste clean and fragrant.

More importantly, it would be healthy and filling.

While she was planning, she noticed something else.

The women nearby were scraping scales off the fish clumsily with stones. Some fish were torn open unevenly, the insides not properly cleaned.

A few still had dark blood clinging to the spine.

If they cooked like this, the soup would taste muddy and fishy.

No wonder their meals always smelled so strong and honestly she didn’t blame them.

If she didn’t come from a modern world. She would have done the same thing.

Ningning sighed softly.

"Xiaoli. Nala. Come here for a moment."

The two women hurried over.

She picked up one fish and spoke as she worked, her tone calm and patient.

"Watch carefully. If you clean the fish like this before, it will taste very bad. But if you do it this way.."

They both leaned closer.

Instead of just scraping, Ningning slid the knife cleanly along the belly, opening it in one smooth motion.

She removed the organs, then scraped the black membrane along the ribs and spine thoroughly before rinsing it with water.

"This part." she said, pointing inside, "must be cleaned properly. If you leave it, the smell won’t go away."

Xiaoli’s eyes widened. "So that is why our food always tastes bitter..."

Nala nodded quickly. "We only ever wash the outside."

Ningning handed them the knife. "Try it."

They copied her movements, slower but careful. After two to three attempts, their cuts became steadier.

Before long, the pile of fish on Ningning’s side began to look noticeably cleaner than Dana’s.

Dana, who had been loudly chopping tubers nearby, glanced over and frowned.

She clicked her tongue but said nothing.

For some reason, watching those neat, skillful movements made her chest feel tight.

Meanwhile, Ningning continued calmly, already planning the next steps in her head.

If this worked, three hundred people would taste the difference.

And once they did—

No one would dare call her useless again.

She was quite confident that they would like her cooking even if she was bad cook.

Why?

Because she would be giving them a different taste.

The difference between the two sides became obvious even to the dullest eye.

On Dana’s side, the fish were still scraped roughly with stones, scales scattered everywhere, a few bellies torn open too wide, some not cleaned thoroughly enough.

The women working with her moved quickly, but their movements were careless, focused more on speed than precision.

On Ningning’s side, however, the fish gradually formed a neat, shining pile.

Each one was split cleanly along the belly, the organs removed intact, the dark membrane scraped away until the flesh showed a healthy pale color.

After rinsing, the fish no longer carried that heavy river smell.

Instead, they smelled faint and fresh, almost sweet.

Even the women passing by subconsciously slowed their steps to look.

They might not understand technique, but their noses did not lie.

Clean food simply smelled better.

Because they were cooking for more than three hundred men, several large fires were built at once.

Clay pots big enough to bathe a child in were dragged out from storage, their bottoms already blackened from years of use.

Flat stones were stacked around the flames to support wooden racks, and broad leaves were washed and laid aside for wrapping.

The entire area grew hotter by the moment.

Smoke curled upward.

Voices overlapped.

The crackling of firewood mixed with the dull sound of knives hitting boards.

It felt less like cooking and more like preparing for a small war.