Back at the camp, Zhang Feng's eyes lit up when he saw the potatoes.
"Quick, make potatoes."
As the Commander of the Fire Head Army, Zhang Feng had tasted many delicacies. After eating potatoes for such a long time, he could taste nothing but blandness.
However, their method of cooking potatoes was simple; everyone just boiled them and at most added some oil and salt.
So the taste wasn't something to look forward to.
Nevertheless, even boiled, the potatoes were sandy, the texture excellent, and they carried a faint salty flavor, intrinsic to the potatoes themselves.
As he was eating, Zhang Feng noticed the two government officers carefully kicking the wooden barrel behind them, and he couldn't help but frown.
"What are you kicking?"
The two officers, feeling guilty, said, "Noth... nothing."
They only had this one barrel, counting on the fermented tofu to improve the taste.
If they took it out, there wouldn't be much left after a few meals by so many people.
