Three basins of dough were steamed into nine large pots of steamed buns, about twenty in each pot. The mixed grain ones were gray, and the pure ones golden yellow.
They made pumpkin rice and scooped up a basin of sweet garlic, no stir-fried dishes.
Yesterday's meal was too greasy; surprisingly, none of the old folks or kids minded the coarse grain meal. Erxiong gobbled down two big rolls of the pure one; mind you, Fubao and Zhuangzhuang together only finished one.
Today is pig slaughter day. At the brigade office's entrance, twenty large pots were set up early on the grounds.
The firewood under the stoves roared with flames, making the water in the pots bubble furiously. Over a thousand people, men, women, young and old, got up early, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Zhang Yuejin, with a group of strong workers, caught and slaughtered pigs, the pigs' dying squeals were heartrending.
