HLM – Chapter 195 The Fragrance of Meat

Surrounded by a group of onlookers, Little Wang suddenly felt shy again. With lowered head and wagging tail, he walked away bashfully—just as Little Bartier called for him. One boy and one beast dashed into the castle together.

Wang Bo had a theory about Little Wang’s overly gentle personality. He suspected it had something to do with Little Bartier. The two were always hanging out together—birds of a feather flock together, after all.

After the wild boar was gutted and cleaned, it was time to skin it. The pork was dark red in color, different from farmed pigs—it looked leaner and firmer.

Wang Bo walked up and sniffed it. A strong gamey stench wafted out. Clearly, these boars didn’t live on grass alone—they must’ve eaten small animals too.

Pointing at the boar, he said, “Alright, didn’t you all want to roast it? Go ahead—just smell this damned thing! Guys, you think you can actually eat this once it’s grilled?”

Charlie gave a dry laugh. “Don’t make it sound so disgusting. Wild boar meat can be eaten.”

Bowen was less optimistic. “If it can’t be grilled, then what did we even bring it back for? Should’ve just dug a hole and buried it on the spot.”

In Australia and New Zealand, wild boars had become a full-blown pest problem. They weren’t considered food—neither the white folks nor the indigenous people ate boar. Even the Maoris, who could eat almost anything, drew the line at wild boar meat.

Boar meat had a strong, foul smell, and locals never bled them properly after killing them. That meant blood soaked into the meat and ruined the flavor. Even Chinese people found it hard to stomach.

Fortunately, this particular boar had its carotid and abdomen shredded in the hunt. It had staggered around a bit before collapsing, which let it bleed out fully, so the stench wasn’t as overwhelming.

Wang Bo sneered at Bowen. “You people—barbarians! Can’t you cook anything besides roasted meat?”

Kobe raised his hand. “I know other ways to cook it—but I’m not doing it. I don’t touch wild boar meat. It’s too filthy.”

Wang Bo rolled his eyes. “Relax. I’ll handle it!”

Kobe was busy these days. He was working on reopening Sprees’ kitchen. Since it was supposed to be a high-end restaurant, it couldn’t operate out of a prefab building. He was building an elegant new spot next to the convenience store.

Roasting was out for the boar meat, but the wild rabbits and pheasants weren’t a problem.

Normally, wild rabbits weren’t fatty, but the ones on the ranch were raised on high-quality pasture, so they had stored up a good bit of fat—perfect for roasting.

So Wang Bo only needed to deal with the boar.

He cut the meat into strips, then marinated it in cooking wine, pepper, and a mixture of scallions, ginger, and garlic—all good for masking strong odors. These were perfect for prepping wild boar.

Once the smell was under control, he consulted his mental recipe list and got to work.

First up: Saucy Wild Boar Stew—a simple dish. He chopped the meat into chunks and threw them into a pressure cooker with vinegar and soy sauce—plenty of soy sauce, for that rich braised flavor.

He also tossed in big chunks of scallions, ginger, garlic, and a seasoning pack. He had brought loads of spices from home and stored them in the castle’s dry cellar—ready whenever he needed.

He cranked up the heat, and just like that, the stew was underway.

Then he rubbed his hands together and got to work on Cumin Wild Boar Slices. After slicing the meat thin, he called in Ian and handed him a clean wooden stick.

“Beat this meat, hard!” he ordered.

Ian looked awkward. “Boss, the pig’s already dead. Isn’t this a little excessive? Kinda feels… inhumane.”

Wang Bo facepalmed. “Come on! This meat is tough. If we don’t tenderize it, it won’t absorb flavor or chew easily. Smack it to loosen the fibers—it’ll taste better.”

Realization dawned on Ian. He rolled up his sleeves and started pounding away, teeth gritted.

Wang Bo quickly stopped him. “Sheesh! Not like that! Take it easy—you’re turning it into minced meat!”

Each cut needed to be tenderized. Wang Bo grabbed one already-done piece, then swiftly sliced it into strips. He dipped each piece in a marinade of salt, pepper, Sichuan peppercorns, soy sauce, and cumin, then dusted them with cornstarch and set them aside to marinate.

Then he heated oil in a pan. When it was about 70% hot—just starting to smoke—he dropped in the marinated slices. Once the aroma rose, he took them out.

Lastly, he sautéed some onions in the same pan, not to cook them fully—just to coat them in oil. On a plate, he laid down some lettuce, arranged the meat slices on top, and finished with the oiled onions.

Next, he cranked out several more dishes: Spicy Stir-Fried Boar, Boar Chops, Crispy Boar Tenderloin, and Celery Boar Shreds. Ever since coming to New Zealand, he’d been cooking constantly, and his skills had skyrocketed. He whipped out over ten dishes in one go.

Ian watched in awe. “Boss, were you a chef back in China?”

Wang Bo shook his head. “Nope. I was in IT—same industry as Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg.”

The cowboy looked instantly impressed. “Sh*it, boss! So you’re a high-tech elite too. Never would’ve guessed.”

Wang Bo nodded smugly—then immediately felt something was off. What did he mean by never guessed? Rude bastard!

The wild rabbits and pheasants were already roasted. Zhuang Ding and the Queen led a pack of little princes as they paced around the grill, drooling rivers.

Little Wang crouched by the doorway, gazing longingly at the meat. When he saw Wang Bo arrive, he whimpered twice and then kept glancing at the grill, giving Wang Bo puppy-dog eyes.

Wang Bo had a soft spot for these little critters. He went over and tore a roast rabbit in half, giving one piece each to Zhuang Ding and the Queen. Then he tossed a half-done chicken to Little Wang and a full roast rabbit to the princes pups. Just like that, the grill was cleared out.

Bowen was furious. “Boss! That was our food. You can’t just give it all to these little brats!”

Wang Bo shot back, “Let’s be fair—who caught these rabbits and pheasants?”

Bowen blinked. “Zhuang Ding and the Queen…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The roasted meat had all been caught by the dogs. The ones hunted with rifles were full of holes, tasted like gunpowder, and weren’t good for roasting. So Wang Bo tossed those back on the grill—for the dogs and hybrid beasts.

One dish after another landed on the table. With roast rabbit, chicken, and beef-lamb skewers, the feast was set.

There were quite a few people dining now—six cowboys, Little Bartier, Hani and his son—around fourteen or fifteen in total.

Hani brought over some beer from the convenience store. “Mayor,” he said with a grin, “Anderson told me to tell you the beer stock is all yours to sell now.”

Wang Bo sighed. “What else could I do? You guys are all hopeless drunks. Can’t you drink a little less?”

“Quit whining—just drink!”

Little Hani sneakily poured himself some beer. Hani glared, about to stop him, but Wang Bo waved it off. “Little Hani, Little Bartier—you can both drink a bit. You’re real men now. Don’t binge, but don’t be teetotalers either!”

Little Bartier whispered nervously, “I don’t want to drink…”

Little Hani dragged him in anyway. “It’s fine! Just a sip! Come on, baby, take a sip…”

Little Bartier looked like he was about to cry.