The Slime Farmer - 32 Pork and Beans with Rice

Waving at the workers, Defi pushed away from the pier.

The scow ride to Sarel’s place took an hour, as he was pushing against the current. Keeping to the calmer waters of the river was essential to speed and efficiency.

The part of the Treachery that Sarel and Falie and several others decided to farm in was livelier than the river nearer the lake proper. The Garge homestead where Defi lived was in fact placed just before the calmer part of the river ended.

Past the Garge homestead, few people wanted to build homes there. The river waters were a bit too dangerous for them.

That’s why those who settled there were recluses.

He knew there were others, but apart from Falie and Hames, Defi had not met other people there.

Sarel was already picking fruit when he strode up the path from the pier.

“Good morning.” He lifted Turq from his shoulder and placed the slime on the ground, where there were still fallen fruits.

She nodded at him in return greeting and glanced at Turq, as he took up baskets of his own. Defi was used to her bouts of silence, so only smiled and headed into the trees.

Sarel liked her solitude, so Defi mostly tried to work in different areas of the orchard from hers. Because of this, she sometimes forgot he was there when she got too much into her thoughts or too focused on some problem or other.

Leaving Turq near her was so she didn’t get surprised when he emerged from the orchard, or forget to make food because she was tinkering with the flavors of the spice combinations sold by the Bluzand Company.

Defi inhaled the scent of zaziphos flowers and fruits. A tree that fruited every month of the year would’ve been prized in Ontrea. He had thought so many times. Much of the fruit grown in Defi’s homeland was dried for transport to drier parts of the country.

Defi had not seen much dried fruit in the markets. He made a note to explore the shops a little more, as most of his familiarity was confined to the market stalls.

The fruit of the zaziphos tree grew on long thin branches that bow and droop with weight as the fruit forms. It made the harvest easier. There was not much fruit on one tree, but there were enough trees that in an hour Defi had picked two baskets weighing around ten kilogar each.

He brought the baskets to the gathering area near the house, where four filled baskets already stood.

Usually, Sarel sorted ten baskets twice a week for delivery to the regular customers. Defi’s arrangement meant she generally left the picking and delivery to him, while he cleared the orchard of as many defective fruits as he could take away.

He wondered if he could ask for just the sourer fruits. Probably not. He usually took an equal amount from all the zones.

Sarel grew the trees in a specific pattern, where fruits from different areas should not mix.

Defi tied painted pieces of wood to the baskets he already picked.

Purple, for the area near the east rock pile.

Months of picking had already made him familiar with the twelve zones that Sarel carefully kept separate with posts containing emblems that made sure each area would not contaminate another. Each zone had twenty to forty trees, and assigned different methods of care.

As Defi was only the harvester, he had not much to do with the actual raising. He didn’t even know what Sarel was growing them for. While the varieties she sold varied per buyer, there were others that she didn’t sell.

He took more baskets and returned to harvesting.

He bit into one of the red fruits. The zaziphos in the purple zone were the sweetest.

When twenty baskets were gathered, Defi went to wash his face and hands. He looked around, spotted Turq lounging in the roots of one of the trees.

It was past mid-day already. The slimes generally preferred shade when the sun was the hottest.

Defi stretched, muscles pulling in contentment at having been used. He bent this way and that, loosening them even more.

Sarel should have finished with the food by now. He entered the kitchen to help with the preparations, and stopped in his tracks.

The food today was pork belly, glistening with delicious tender fat and slow-cooked with a mix of spices and beans. The scent was intoxicating.

Defi stared.

Over a quarter of the farms in the Lowpool grew fruit trees, mostly milkfigs and frost melons – the most sought after fruits in the empire. The rest grew grain, greens, beans, and mushrooms. Most of the farmers regularly trapped birds and small game but of the over one hundred farms in the Lowpool, only three raised meat for food. Only two raised cows and goats for milk, cheese, and cream.

That is to say, meat was often quickly sold out in the Lowpool.

Defi, raised on the hunt, had been pushing the craving for actual red-blooded, fatty meat into a corner of his mind for months. Faced with the reality of it, his mouth watered painfully. He could not take his eyes away, entranced.

“What are you waiting for?” Sarel asked. She was looking at him curiously.

Defi shook his head. There was a plate in his hands. Had he set the table while in a trance? He sat down. It was meat. Meat! Glorious pork in spice and beans.

When was the last time…

He decided to stop thinking and started filling his plate. He paused at the other dishes. Was that rice?

He didn’t even know it existed in Ascharon. It was even steam-boiled the way Ontrea made it. He took a serving and tasted it.

Ordinary water hadn’t been used, the subtle scent of zaziphos flowing around it.

He glanced at Sarel, who was already mixing the spiced pork and beans into her plate of rice.

“Does Ascharon grow much rice? I haven’t seen it in the markets.”

“Rice?” She pronounced the Ontrean word Defi used, glanced at the plate in his hands. “Ah, it’s cloudgrain. The empire has a colony in the continent of Clouds across the sea to the south, so most of it is imported cheaply. Not many grow it in Ascharon, too difficult. If you want some, try the grain shops.”

Difficult? Defi nearly gaped.

Rice was simpler to plant and harvest than wheat!

A farmer only needed to plant it once and it would benefit that farmer for half a century. With the vitality within the lands of Ascharon, rice should produce double the usual, more plentiful per hecte than all the grain varieties in the empire.

Even if the climate of Ascharon was colder than Ontrea or the continent of Clouds, Defi was well aware that rice could adapt. There was a variety of rice grown in the steppes in the far lands to the south of Ontrea that was both flavorful and fragrant, even eaten plain, one of the most sought-after varieties in several kingdoms.

He hadn’t heard that rice was one of the prohibited Gate export items in Rimet. So why did the Lowpool, a water-laden place in close proximity to the Gate, not plant rice? Maybe Rimet merchants only sold the polished grains?

Then again, there was a ban on selling information, so it was not that far-fetched that Ascharon, trade partner to Ontrea for nearly a millennium, would not know how to grow rice.

Cloudgrain…he’d seen that in the farm journals of the Garge homestead – another of the crops that used to be planted there. He resolved to take a closer look.

His stomach rumbled.

He scooped another serving of the rice, and a large helping of the pork.

The first bite froze him, like a lightning strike. Had he really missed meat so much? He forced himself to chew, forcibly holding back his emotions. His first kill had been a boar; since then the sweetest meat he had ever tasted. But this…

He took another bite, chewed, swallowed. Then another, and another.

He tried his hardest not to embarrass himself by stuffing all of it into his salivating maw like a starving bear.

Despite his powerful restraint, Sarel quirked an amused smile at him. “Rimet and Egrenua also trade cloudgrain, don’t they? But the quality is middling, compared to Cloud continent imports.” She nodded at his plate. “What do you think?”

At the question, Defi slowed down from all but inhaling the plate. He rolled the grains around his tongue experimentally. He’d noticed of course. Compared to what he was used to, the rice was springier, a pleasant pressure on the teeth as he chewed. The grains were slightly plumper, with the perfect firm tenderness that was difficult to achieve with regular Ontrean rice.

A quick check with the Current told him that the vitality in the rice grains was high, but only half that of savras. “Cloud continent does mystic cooking as well?”

“Not as overarching as Ascharon’s cooking, but yes.”

That meant the vitality of the Cloud continent was similar to Ascharon. He pushed his spoon against the rice grains on his plate, seeing them distort from the pressure and recover, contemplating the differences. The scent of zaziphos aside, the Cloud continent rice had a fragrance that trumped Ontrea-grown rice as well. The taste rivaled Egrenua’s top quality silvergrain rice.

It was like someone had bred all the best characteristics of the rare rice variety delicacies in Defi’s world and put them into a grain with perfectly excellent texture.

The gods of this world, he thought with some humor, did they have a vendetta against the rice in his world?

“It’s the best rice I’ve eaten,” he said at last, honest.

If he could grow Ontrean rice in the vitality-rich lands of Ascharon, would the taste change. Somehow, he wanted to know. If he asked, Marmocha could easily secure unhulled rice from Rimet.

Unfortunately, growing rice wasn’t something he could do at the moment.

“You’ve never cooked rice in the time I’d been here.”

Sarel shrugged. “You talked with Marmon a bit about the food in both worlds. I wanted to know if this dish would suit the Ontrean tongue.”

“Suit?” Defi tried not to laugh. She had managed to create one of the most widespread dishes in Ontrea from a single conversation. He was certain he didn’t talk about that particular dish with Marmon Chacort. “It more than suits. There is a dish of pork and beans with cloudgrain in Ontrea, common in the street stalls, served with shredded lettuce and vinegar. But this level of skill in cooking, only the king’s kitchen would come close to recreating your version.”

“I’d prefer the street stall.”

Defi huffed in amusement. It would be just like her to spurn a king and then open a street stall, wouldn’t it.

He served himself another helping of rice, ate slower, testing the taste of all the side dishes he’d ignored earlier. Most of them had varying levels of tartness, which refreshed the tongue.

The pork was deliciously oily and sweet; the side dishes only made him want to eat more.

He spooned slivers of pickled bellpepper over the pork on his plate. The sharp smell reminded him, in fact… “Do you know someone who grows starcherries?”

“No one does. It grows everywhere.”

That was promising information. “What does it look like?”

“There’s a patch of the bushes near the log bridge. If you spread the damnable things closer to the trees, I’ll toss you off the bridge.”

Defi held his spoon up in acknowledged surrender, and they both went back to decimating the food.

After the meal, Defi spent a few hours sorting the best fruits for delivery.

It was just edging past mid-afternoon when he loaded ten baskets into Sarel’s scow. It was larger and sturdier than the scow Defi bought for himself, so best suited for the deliveries.

“Turq, we’re setting off.” It was the hottest part of the day, but clouds were already gathering fast on the horizon. He plopped one of the circular hats Sarel liked so much onto his head and lifted Turq into an arm.

He placed the slime on the seat of the scow, checked the balance of the load once again. He adjusted a few of the baskets, then the ropes, checked again.

With no more obvious problems, he waved at Sarel, who was just setting up her fishing gear. She would be there until past sunset, the lamp beside her lit.

With a scow laden with baskets of fruit, Defi and Turq set off for town.