On the thirty-fourth day, as the first light of dawn broke, Lin Yu’an opened his eyes right on ti, aided by December’s habitual "wake-up service."
The roar of the blizzard was gone, leaving the world outside the shelter eerily silent.
He skillfully completed all his morning routines, recording temperature and humidity inside the shelter, preparing December’s new breakfast with an 8% increase in milk quantity, and carefully cleaning and sterilizing the milk bottle. These tasks had beco as natural a part of his life as breathing.
December’s weight displayed a steady 11.2 kg on the electronic scale, nearly 400 grams heavier, and this astonishing growth rate filled him with a deep sense of contentnt.
After settling December, who was wrestling with a red rubber ball on the wolfskin bed, Lin Yu’an donned his thickest gear and pushed open the shelter’s door.
His primary task today was to harvest the fruits of his labor from a day and a night’s work – the first batch of cold-smoked Red Spot Salmon.
In front of the igloo smokehouse, the soapstone stove had completely cooled, and the smoke had dwindled significantly.
Opening the snowbrick door, a rich yet not overpowering aroma, a blend of cool wood and fish oil fragrances, rushed out from inside. He took a deep breath, a satisfied expression appearing on his face.
He bent down and stepped into the dim interior of the smokehouse. After more than a night’s continuous work, the white smoke had beco faint but was still stubbornly emanating from the flue, gently swirling under the do.
The Red Spot Salmon hanging on the wooden rods looked entirely different. The once pale pink bodies had now taken on a stunning smoky reddish-brown hue, like fine rosewood.
The surfaces were dry and shiny, with each fish resembling a ticulously crafted artwork. He carefully took one down and brought it out into the bright sunlight outside the smokehouse.
Holding the fish up to the cara, he gently touched its skin with his finger. The skin had turned into a tough layer of leather, feeling firm and slightly sticky, the perfect result of the "protein film" curing completely.
"Perfect," he sincerely praised.
Lin Yu’an drew his Hunting Knife from his waist and from the thickest part of the fish, sliced off a small piece. The blade slicing through the tough fish skin made a slight "crack" sound, while cutting into the flesh offered a firm and elastic resistance.
He presented the perfect cut to the cara; the outermost layer showed a deep-colored "smoke ring" a few milliters thick, while the flesh inside retained the alluring deep pink unique to Red Spot Salmon, with its texture glistening in the sunlight.
Popping the small piece of smoked fish into his mouth, he closed his eyes, savoring it attentively.
The first sensation to hit the taste buds was the complex aroma from the mix of willow and birch smoking. Then ca the concentrated, pure savory flavor enhanced by smoking after being cured with salt and juniper berries.
As he began to chew, the firm, elastic fish released its rich fish oils between his teeth, like a hidden protagonist making a final appearance, perfectly balancing the smoky depth and the saltiness.
"Success," he said, opening his eyes, his face full of unmistakable joy.
"Flavor, texture, color... everything has reached my highest expectations,"
The success of this batch of smoked fish ant he now had his first batch of high-protein food that could be stored long-term at room temperature, becoming the perfect protein snack before the end of the competition.
This morning, Lin Yu’an’s central work was processing yesterday’s most crucial trophy – porcupine fat.
Rendering the fat was a critical step in completely overcoming the fat crisis and achieving energy independence.
He took out the thick slabs of pure white subcutaneous fat he had ticulously peeled off, several centiters thick, from the snow-cellar fridge. At the extrely low temperatures, they had beco as hard as ice, even making a crisp sound when tapped.
First, he placed these slabs of fat by the hearth to slightly warm and soften using the radiating heat from the fireplace. Only then did he use his sharp Damascus Hunting Knife to carefully cut them into one centiter square pieces.
He placed all the cut pieces into a large clean iron pot, then set it over the fireplace, where charcoal rather than open flas provided the heat, beginning the slow process of rendering.
This required patience and focus; he couldn’t leave and had to stay by the pot at all tis, continuously stirring slowly with a long birchwood spoon to prevent the fat pieces at the bottom from scorching and producing a bitter taste, which would ruin the whole pot of precious oil.
As the temperature gradually rose, a fascinating transformation began. The edges of the milky white fat pieces turned translucent, slowly releasing clear liquid oil. Inside the pot, a gentle sizzling sound, like a fine spring rain, could be heard.
The entire shelter beca enveloped in an unparalleled dominant aroma of at fat. The scent was more intense and penetrating than any food he’d cooked before, brimming with a primal sense of energy.
Ti passed with the continuous stirring and sizzling sounds. The liquid oil in the pot increased, while the volu of the fat pieces steadily decreased.
Their color shifted from milky white to a tempting golden yellow, and they began to float upwards.
Lin Yu’an knew the timing was just right. When all the cracklings turned golden and crispy, with no new oil seeping out, he moved the iron pot off the flas, placing it on a stone slab nearby, using the residual heat to continue stirring for a bit longer, allowing the temperature to gradually cool down.
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