HLM -Chapter 1341 Waterfall Picnic

After placing the three fish into the tank, the old man asked, “You’re here for fun, right? Asian, aren’t you? Asians love fish—do you want to buy some? They were just caught, fresh and clean.”

Wang Bo joked, “I helped you pull in the nets. Aren’t you going to give me a fish as thanks?”

The old man laughed, “I’ll help you too, young man. But if you want to buy my fish, I can give you a good price.”

Checking the time, Wang Bo felt tempted.

The old man picked up the large fish he had just caught and said, “Look, this is our Icelandic specialty, the sea bass. Check out its mouth—this guy’s fierce.”

Inside the fish’s mouth were sharp teeth like a dog’s. The old man dropped a stone inside, and when the fish closed its mouth, it bit down with a loud crack.

Besides the sea bass, the tank also held two Atlantic salmon—good fish, rich in nutrients and tasty.

Wang Bo squatted down to check their vitality and asked, “Two Atlantic salmon and two sea bass—how much for all of them?”

The old man said, “Forty thousand krona.”

Converting the exchange rate, that’s 2,400 RMB for four fish—not cheap. But Iceland is expensive, and Atlantic salmon in Iceland grow slowly due to the cold waters, so their price is higher than elsewhere.

Wang Bo asked, “Would thirty-five thousand krona work?”

The old man waved his hand. “Sure, thirty-five thousand krona, you can take them. If you want to eat them right here, I can lend you my kitchen.”

Wang Bo was surprised, “You brought cooking utensils with you?”

The old man laughed, “Of course not. I just have a fishing hut nearby. Follow me.”

As he spoke, the old man efficiently packed the fish, tying the two salmon and two sea bass together, leaving the fishing gear and remaining fish by the riverside, then headed up.

Wang Bo reminded him, “Aren’t you going to pack your things?”

The old man shook his head. “I’ll come back later. They’re too heavy to carry around—I’m past the age of exercising my muscles.”

The riverbanks had hills and plains, with small huts arranged in a scattered pattern.

The old man’s hut was one of them. Inside, it was simple—just a bed and a large kitchen, though it had plenty of tables and benches.

“In summer and autumn, I rent it out. Many people buy fish and prepare it themselves. Of course, I can help process it too. Since you helped me with the nets just now, I won’t charge you,” the old man said.

Wang Bo felt it would be more enjoyable for the family to cook themselves, so he politely declined the offer.

The old man was straightforward—he explained the kitchen tools, then left the house in their care and headed toward the river.

Father Bo was surprised, “He didn’t ask for a deposit—he trusts you that much?”

Wang Bo said, “It’s like that in Iceland. The security is excellent, and locals trust visitors.”

He left Father Bo and Eva to handle the fish, and went to drive his mother and the children over.

The four of them wouldn’t eat much, and the pets weren’t interested in the fish, so Wang Bo decided to prepare just one sea bass and one salmon.

The simplest way to cook sea bass is by steaming. Cold-water sea bass like these are perfect for that—they grow slowly, are rich in protein, low in fat, have a strong fresh flavor, and steaming brings out their best taste.

The old man’s hut had various European seasonings, as well as lemon and white wine for removing fishy smells, but no Chinese scallions, ginger, garlic, or soy sauce.

Father Bo looked over the condiments and found butter, salad dressing, tomato sauce, mustard, and even vinegar—though Icelandic black vinegar and malt vinegar.

He shook his head, “No, we can’t steam it properly—there aren’t the right ingredients.”

Wang Bo said, “No problem, I have them in the car. I brought my travel bag—everything’s in there.”

The travel bag was indeed fully stocked—but not with seasonings. Who would carry a bunch of condiments halfway across the globe for vacation? However, using the sand table, he could summon the spices as long as there was a reason.

He had a spice box prepared back at the castle—a small plastic box containing everything: scallions, ginger, garlic, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, plus cumin, sesame, dried chili, star anise, and more.

Seeing it, Eva gave a thumbs up. “Honey, you really came prepared.”

Wang Bo smiled proudly, “Of course. We’re on vacation. It’s easy to forget things at home, but the husband always brings everything.”

Sea bass is high in protein, so it can’t be over-steamed—it would lose nutrients and the texture would suffer.

Father Bo brought a pot to a boil, steamed the fish for five minutes, then carefully poured the prepared sauce over it. The dish was ready.

Wang Bo’s parents handled the sea bass, while Wang Bo prepared the salmon.

The salmon needed to be sliced. Since it was large, it couldn’t be cooked whole—it had to be divided into multiple dishes to add variety.

Wang Bo chose a simple preparation. With lemon, orange, and butter in the hut, he made orange-glazed salmon. He pan-fried the salmon until golden, then simmered it slowly in orange juice and butter until the sauce reduced.

Additionally, using mustard and Icelandic black vinegar, he sliced the belly portion into pieces, rolled them with cucumber slices, and made some sashimi.

Finally, he pan-seared the salmon, resulting in four dishes—quite a sumptuous outdoor lunch.

Eva invited the old man to join. He initially refused, but Eva mentioned they had made Eastern-style dishes, which piqued his curiosity, and he joined them.

At the table, the old man had little interest in the salmon but eagerly ate a piece of the steamed sea bass, nodding in approval. “Delicious. This is how sea bass should be eaten.”

Wang Bo asked, “Looking at your features, you don’t seem like a native Icelander?”

Before World War I, Iceland was isolated. The locals rarely went out, and few outsiders came in, so bloodlines circulated within the island. With a small population surviving together for over a thousand years, there was some familial resemblance and relatively uniform features.

The old man laughed heartily, “That’s a misconception, haha. Many people think Icelanders all look similar—like that guy on screen playing Thor, right?”

Wang Bo shrugged, “Looks like my eye for detail isn’t precise enough.”

The old man laughed again, “No, no, actually your eye is very good—I’m Italian. I came here as a young man for travel, fell in love with the place, and stayed.”