The air in the slaughterhouse district hung thick with the smell of blood and livestock. Dark red sewage flowed across cobblestones. Burly butchers, bare-chested despite the autumn chill, wielded massive cleavers and saws with practiced efficiency, expertly dismembering freshly killed cattle and sheep.
Felix walked through the carnage unfazed, heading directly toward the largest establishment in the area.
A sign hung at the entrance, "Bill's Meat Shop" painted in crude letters across weathered wood. Inside, a scarred man with a blood-splattered leather apron worked at a cutting block, wielding a boning knife longer than Felix's forearm. He stripped a whole beef brisket with the ease of long practice.
This was Bill, the meat shop overlord of this district.
"Hey, kid, what are you gawking at?" Bill didn't bother looking up, his voice booming like a bell. "If you want to buy meat, speak up. Otherwise, don't block my light."
Several workers moving cuts of meat paused to watch Felix with malicious grins. They were accustomed to seeing poorly dressed boys trying their luck at the butcher shop, usually ending in humiliation.
Felix wasn't intimidated. Instead, he stepped forward with a slight smile. "Mr. Bill, I am indeed here to buy meat."
Bill finally stopped his knife and scrutinized the newcomer. Though the young man's clothes were ordinary, he stood straight. There was no trace of a poor man's timidity in his eyes, instead, a confidence Bill couldn't quite place.
"What do you want? Steak? Tenderloin?" Bill plunged his boning knife into the chopping block with a dull thud. "Better weigh your pockets first, kid. My meat isn't cheap."
"Quite the opposite, Mr. Bill." Felix's gaze swept over the fresh, high-quality cuts on the chopping block, then moved to the scraps piled in a large wooden basin, fascia, gristle, and fat that most customers ignored. "I don't want those prime cuts. I want these."
Bill and his workers stared.
"What did you say?" Bill looked as if he'd heard the day's best joke. "You want the offal? Kid, are you serious? These things go to soap makers or get thrown to the dogs."
"Perhaps in your eyes they're offal," Felix replied calmly. "In mine, they're treasure. I have a special cooking method that can make these tough meats softer and more flavorful than any steak."
He stepped closer and lowered his voice so only Bill could hear. "Sir, you know those Southerners are agitating for independence. War may come very soon. When it does, thousands of soldiers will need to eat. Do you think the government will feed them expensive tenderloin?"
The mockery on Bill's face slowly solidified. Rough he might be, but no fool. He dealt with meat every day, and with all sorts of people. He was more attuned to shifts in the political winds than most.
War, for him, meant soaring prices, an opportunity to make his fortune.
"You mean..." Bill's eyes sharpened.
"My meaning is simple." Felix met his gaze steadily. "I want to use these meats you look down on to make military rations that can be preserved for months. But I need a stable, cheap supplier. I don't have much capital now, but I have vision. You sell me these scraps at a fair price, and when my business takes off, I guarantee the volume I'll order will make you smile so wide you won't be able to close your mouth."
The words completely overturned Bill's expectations. He'd seen braggarts before, but never one so articulate and unconventional. A poor kid talking about war, armies, and the future.
Such a person was either a lunatic or a genius.
Bill was silent for a moment, then picked up his knife and scraped the chopping block. "Why should I believe you? And you're telling me this so directly, aren't you afraid I'll steal your method?"
"Just for this, sir." Felix pulled twenty dollars from his pocket and slapped the bills onto the greasy chopping block. "We can try cooperating first. This twenty dollars buys all your beef brisket scraps, beef shank, and those meaty bones you've trimmed off. Additionally, I need beef fat. You set the price, as long as it's fair."
Cash, especially a substantial amount, always held powerful persuasion. Twenty dollars was a month's wages for an ordinary worker.
"And I've already inquired about your character," Felix continued. "If you weren't trustworthy, your shop wouldn't be the biggest and best in this market. What's more, earning money honestly is surely better than earning it fearfully after committing a crime. You know New York isn't the Wild West."
Bill stared at the banknotes, then at Felix's composed face.
"These meats are heavy," Bill said finally, his tone softening as he shifted into businessman mode. "And they're troublesome to process."
"Of course. That's why I came to you, you're the most professional here." Felix offered the compliment at precisely the right moment.
Bill's face relaxed. "All right. Given your sincerity, we'll give it a try. These meats plus two large chunks of beef fat, fifteen dollars. With the remaining five, you can buy fresh beef bones to take home and make soup. Good for that scrawny body of yours."
The price was more than reasonable, it was generous. Bill was clearly making an investment, curious to see what this interesting young man could achieve.
"Deal!" Felix agreed immediately. "Though I don't have a carriage, so I'll need to make several trips, "
"No need for all that trouble." Bill waved his hand and shouted to a nearby worker. "Pete, get a handcart and help this gentleman deliver his goods wherever he needs them."
"Yes, boss!" Pete immediately ran off.
Felix nodded inwardly. Bill seemed crude, but he was shrewd beneath the roughness, he knew how to invest in goodwill.
"Thank you, Mr. Bill."
"Don't thank me yet." Bill pointed at the remaining five dollars with his greasy finger. "I have one condition."
"Please."
"When you make that 'treasure' you spoke of, send me a portion to taste. If it's as good as you say, all my offal will be reserved for you at today's price." Bill grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "If it's not good... don't ever step into my shop again."
"It's a deal." A confident smile spread across Felix's face. "You definitely won't be disappointed."
---
With Pete's help, Felix loaded several hundred pounds of meat and bones onto the handcart. He stopped by the nearby vegetable market and spent his remaining money on onions, carrots, potatoes, and a generous amount of salt, all essential ingredients for canning.
Pushing the heavily laden cart homeward, Felix felt his steps grow lighter despite the weight. The resources were gathered. His basement workshop was about to light its first fire.
A new empire would begin with a pot of fragrant beef stew.
When he reached the basement entrance, Mrs. Hudson appeared as if summoned by dark magic. She stared at the bloody meat and muddy vegetables, her expression suggesting she might faint.
"Good heavens, Felix... are you turning my basement into a slaughterhouse?"
"Calm down, Mrs. Hudson, please." Felix quickly moved to reassure her. "These are just raw materials. Trust me, when the finished product is ready, you'll smell something this building has never known before."
He ignored her increasingly frantic expression and began, with Pete's help, moving all his "treasures" into the basement.
The door closed, muffling Mrs. Hudson's complaints. Felix stood before his piles of ingredients and took a deep breath. The smell of earth and raw meat mingled together, to him, it was the scent of money and the future.
"Let's get to work."
---
He rinsed the beef brisket and shank repeatedly in clean water, then patiently cut them apart with his newly sharpened knife. Fascia, fat, and lean meat were sorted into separate basins.
It was exhausting, time-consuming work. Without modern grinders and cutting machines, everything had to be done by hand. But Felix worked meticulously, knowing that proper preparation would directly affect the final product's taste and quality.
Next, he threw the large chunks of beef fat into his gleaming pot and lit the fireplace. As the temperature rose, the fat slowly melted with a satisfying sizzle, filling the basement with a rich, fatty aroma.
Once the fat had fully rendered, he skimmed off the solids and threw small batches of beef into the scalding oil.
*Sizzle, *
The moment meat met hot fat, there was a violent hiss and a burst of white smoke mingled with the smell of searing flesh. This was the Maillard reaction, basic knowledge for any chef in later generations, but in 1860, most people simply boiled their meat in water.
This single step of pan-frying created a charred, fragrant crust that locked in juices and flavor.
After all the beef was golden brown, Felix scooped it out and threw chunks of onion and carrot into the remaining fat, stirring until the vegetables' aroma filled the air. Then he returned the seared beef to the pot, added water, salt, and a few crushed peppercorns.
No complex spices, only the simplest seasonings to highlight the ingredients' natural flavors. Or perhaps more accurately, reality didn't allow Felix to buy more spices.
He covered the pot and let it simmer over low heat.
---
As time passed, the basement's atmosphere transformed. The initial smells of raw meat and cooking oil gradually gave way to something richer, more complex, a mellow aroma of beef broth that made one swallow involuntarily.
The scent crept out from under the basement door, drifted up the stairs, and wafted into Mrs. Hudson's living room.
Mrs. Hudson, who was polishing silverware, twitched her nose. At first she thought she'd imagined it. But the scent grew stronger, clearer, impossible to ignore.
God above, she had lived fifty-some years and never smelled anything so enticing.
"What in the world is that boy doing?"
She put down her work and found herself drawn to the basement staircase. She'd intended to scold Felix for making yet another mess, but smelling that appetizing aroma, the words of reprimand wouldn't come.
As she hesitated, the door at the bottom of the stairs creaked open.
Felix emerged carrying a small bowl filled with tender beef and thick broth. Seeing Mrs. Hudson, he showed no surprise.
"Good day. I imagine you might be curious about what I'm doing."
Mrs. Hudson's face warmed, embarrassed at being caught. She put on a stern expression and huffed. "I was merely concerned you'd set my house on fire, Mr. Felix! What is that smell?"
"Stewed beef. The first product for my business." Felix smiled and offered her the bowl. "It's fresh from the pot, and I thought, as my landlady, you have the right to be the first to taste and evaluate it."
Mrs. Hudson stared at the steaming, fragrant stew. She hesitated, then took the bowl and spoon.
She carefully lifted a small piece of beef. The meat was so tender it nearly fell apart at the spoon's touch. She placed it in her mouth, and her eyes widened instantly.
God be her witness, she had never tasted such wonderful food. The beef practically melted without needing to chew. Rich meat juices mixed with sweet vegetables exploded across her taste buds.
This was more delicious than the most expensive dishes in the finest restaurants she'd ever visited.
"Oh... oh my God..." She couldn't help taking another large spoonful, drinking the thick broth along with it. A warm current rose from her stomach, dispelling the chill of early winter in New York.
The small bowl was quickly emptied. Mrs. Hudson nearly licked the bottom before catching herself. When she realized her lapse in decorum, her face flushed crimson.
"Ahem!" She cleared her throat, trying to reclaim her stern landlady persona. "The taste is... passable."
Felix watched her unconvincing performance and chuckled inwardly, but replied seriously. "Thank you for your evaluation, Mrs. Hudson. Your approval gives me confidence."
"Hmph. You'd best not make a mess of my basement." Her words were still sharp, but her tone had softened considerably. She handed back the empty bowl and quickly retreated upstairs.
---
Felix smiled and returned to the basement. Mrs. Hudson's reaction gave him all the confidence he needed.
The large pot of stewed beef was soon nearly empty. He carefully portioned the meat and broth into his homemade tin cans, leaving about an inch of space at the top of each one.
Next came the most crucial step, sealing.
He secured each filled can in his rudimentary seaming machine and began cranking the handle.
*Click... click...*
The rollers pressed over the opening with mechanical precision, perfectly joining lid and body together. One after another, sealed cans emerged from his hands.
Finally, he placed the sealed cans back into a large pot of boiling water for several hours of high-temperature steaming, the most important step to kill microorganisms and ensure long-term preservation.
By the time all the work was completed, dawn was breaking outside.
Dozens of tin cans, varying in size and labeled "Argyle," stood arranged in neat rows on the basement floor. In the lamplight, they gleamed with a simple, solid beauty.
Felix sank to the ground, exhausted, and gazed at the fruits of his labor with deep satisfaction.
To him, these were not ordinary cans. They were a pass, the first step on his path to an empire of wealth.
Now everything was ready.
Tomorrow, he would take these groundbreaking products and knock on the doors of the city's grocery stores.
The real test was about to begin.