Culinary God in Wilderness

Chapter 417: Chapter 258: There’s a Trick to Chumming

The coconut shells had a limited capacity, so he used five of them at once, cooking in rotation.

He drank what he could on the spot and used the excess coconut water as a soup base for the meatballs.

To save time, he didn’t mince the meat too finely. It was still coarse, with visible bits of meat.

The texture of these meatballs wasn’t as bouncy as the ping-pong-ball-like Chaoshan beef balls, but they had a distinct meaty feel, similar to the handmade meatballs used for hot pot in the Sichuan and Chongqing regions.

’I’ll eat this batch plain. Later, I’ll make some with three types of peppers, and some with diced mushrooms and bamboo shoots for a change of pace.’

He watched the meatballs float in the water. They slowly rose to the surface and changed color as more and more small bubbles formed, and a faint, meaty aroma gradually filled the air.

He gently nudged the meatballs with his chopsticks, flipping them to ensure they cooked evenly. After that, all that was left was the long wait.

He even wondered if Andre had already started going after the American Crocodiles, or if he was out scouting locations for his traps.

’He’s more familiar with the Mangrove Forest area than I am. What if he takes the good spot I’ve picked out before I can get to it?’

’Or should I just forget waiting and go set up the traps now?’

After some thought, he was still undecided. He finally decided to head over to the Mangrove Forest for a look after he finished eating.

The American Crocodiles’ movements were relatively predictable. They didn’t tend to come far ashore; their main areas of activity were the sunbathing spots on the bank and in the forest.

’Even if I’m setting a trap, I definitely can’t put it in the water. The catch might just get eaten by another crocodile.’

’The best place would obviously be on the shore, but the crocodiles wander in the water at night. I can’t be sure if these big guys will come ashore.’

’I’ve got it! I have nearly a hundred kilograms of leftover iguana scraps anyway. I can use some of it for an experiment. It’s a waste to let so much bait just sit around.’

’How do anglers usually do it... Oh, right! First you chum the spot, then you cast the hook.’

By the time he had formulated his battle plan for the night, the iguana meatballs in the coconut shells were all floating on the surface.

You don’t have to worry about undercooking meatballs when you start them in warm water like this. They heat up from the inside and outside at the same time, so by the time they float, their internal and external temperatures are the same.

Just let them boil for a few minutes, and they’ll be one hundred percent cooked through.

Cooking them any longer would only make them lose their juices.

He moved all the coconut shells onto the nearby bamboo table, scooped up a hot meatball, and blew on it to cool it down.

The moment it entered his mouth, it was just as he’d imagined. It didn’t have the bouncy resilience of a typical meatball; instead, it was like the minced meat in a steamed egg custard—incredibly soft, tender, and juicy. It practically melted with a gentle press of his tongue.

He had only added a pinch of sea salt, no other seasonings, yet it was exceptionally savory, like a cross between chicken and fish.

He quickly chopped a handful of culantro and sprinkled it into the hot soup, then added a handful of dried chili flakes and crushed allspice, stirring until evenly mixed.

Almost instantly, the clear soup became incredibly appetizing. Every wisp of steam rising from it was filled with the rich, fresh aroma of culantro.

He took a sip. The pure, subtle meatiness of the broth was just like a minced meat soup. Combined with the aromatic seasonings, it almost gave him the illusion of being back in his school cafeteria, wolfing down a meal.

[Enjoying a delicious Green Iguana meatball soup by the sea in Panama. Happiness +1]

’If I were to grill these, would they be like tsukune, the meatballs you get with yakitori?’

As he ate, a flash of inspiration struck him.

He loved watching all sorts of food vlogs. Many of the vloggers he followed traveled the world, while many others were expats living abroad.

He watched Japanese and South Korean vloggers the most. Every time, he’d find himself thinking, ’How can they just eat the same few things over and over?’ while simultaneously drooling like crazy.

He might not have craved it so much if he’d never had it before, but as it happened, Toronto had authentic Japanese and Korean restaurants that he used to frequent.

The authentic flavors were truly delicious, a world of difference from the versions served at restaurants run by Chinese expats.

It was precisely because he’d had the real deal and knew how good it was that he felt an extra-sharp craving whenever he scrolled past videos of other flavors he hadn’t tried.

For example, Korean spicy grilled pig’s feet, spicy grilled boneless chicken feet, spicy grilled octopus, or Japanese oyster ramen and extra-spicy chashu ramen—all were flavors he couldn’t get locally in Toronto.

The Korean food available there was just the basic fare: spicy stir-fried rice cakes, various stone-pot soups, and seafood scallion pancakes. For Japanese, it was mostly tonkotsu ramen and izakayas; it was hard to even find a dedicated yakitori place.

But the main reason was that he was just too busy. He worked every day with almost no time off, so where would he find the spare time to go on a food hunt?

At this thought, he immediately found a branch, washed it clean, grabbed a handful of the meat paste, and molded it around the stick into a shape resembling a cattail, before sticking it in the ground next to the charcoal fire to slowly roast.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to put it on the grill; the main issue was the lack of oil. It would stick for sure. Then he’d lift the stick, and the meat would be left behind, stuck to the bamboo rack. That would just be asking for trouble.

He devoured two bowls of meatball soup, then refilled the coconut shells more than halfway with water and put them back on the fire. He scooped the rest of the cooked meatballs into a bamboo tube to cool, then returned to the task of forming more.

The charcoal-roasted meatballs definitely tasted different from the boiled ones. They had a distinct smoky aroma from the fire, and their texture was chewier, not as soft as the boiled version.

It was a nice change of pace, but if he had to choose, he still thought the boiled ones in the soup were tastier.