Boiled Giant Meat: Roaring Deals and Subtle Exhaustion
Deals with the giant clan are always boisterous, but somehow leave you mysteriously drained.
"Take a look here! The cows from our farm are SSS-grade beef cattle! So we need to charge at least this much per ton!"
"...I'm sorry, but could you lower your voice a bit?"
"Pardon?! Sorry about that! I'm whispering as quietly as I can! How about this—whoooosh-whoooosh-whooo—!"
"...I'm sorry. Your earlier tone was about right."
When a giant over twenty meters tall speaks in a flattened whisper, it echoes through the cave like a swarm of screeching bats. His voice reverberates so much I can't make out a word. Better the ear-piercing volume where at least I can understand him.
"Understood. Then we'll close this contract at that price and volume—"
"Perfect! As expected from System Industry, the only place that pays proper value—euuuuwuuuwuugh—!"
...He gets excited and his voice mangles. With their dialect plus that cavernous bass booming everywhere, the impact is no joke.
Well, putting that aside, transactions with giants are refreshingly straightforward. Deals in the hundreds of thousands to tens of millions of tons at a go. The cows they raise are supposedly a hundred, a thousand, even ten thousand times bigger than normal ones. Sounds like childish bickering, but it's true—their cattle grow from a minimum of 150 tons to a maximum of 3,700 tons. Makes sense when even the weeds in their pastures stretch five meters tall.
"Wonder how low beef prices will drop this year."
When giants flood the market, they dump it at ridiculously low rates. Like the shrimp's back exploding in a whale fight. Smaller suppliers take massive losses trying to compete, and plenty go under after two or three years of deficits. Big corps like our System Industry absorb most of the volume to curb that as much as possible, but prices still dip a little inevitably.
"Beef here~ Take your beef~."
"Ah, as expected."
Even a behemoth like System Industry, dubbed the Dimension Standard, has limits to its logistics warehouses. Just stuff it in your inventory? Not a bad idea. But inventory intake is slower than spoilage for this volume. Output limits were slapped on after some fooling around killed seven people—something about petrifying bodies into items, storing them, and firing them out like cannons. Don't remember the details exactly.
Anyway, infinite inventory can't handle this deluge alone. Warehouses it is. But they're finite. Nowhere near enough for millions or tens of millions of tons. The excess just rots at room temp.
"Five kilos of beef here."
"Can't we skip it?"
"No choice. Everyone who can eat it has to take some. At least overtime pay includes a bonus."
The mantis beastkin in front of me takes the slab with a glum look.
"Hmm... Should I skim a bit off yours, team leader? Could fudge about a kilo as margin for error..."
"Nah. Give me more if you can."
"...You sure you can handle it?"
"We'll see."
My share: 5.7 kg of beef. Weight of a whole meat box. Heavy. Packed with ice packs—the expensive kind. Should stay fresh till I get home.
"Ugh... Every damn time..."
"Thought it was a perk at first, but this much..."
...As I said earlier, System Industry buys giant-raised beef to stabilize prices. This box in my arms is proof of our corporate responsibility. This weight is the inescapable burden of duty...
...
"...No clue how to even tackle this."
Giant beef is fatty. Yet lean. That's the only way to put it. I portion the nicely melted meat into arm-sized chunks. Not sure if you call these portions, but one per meal it is.
"Boiled meat first, then."
Giant beef tastes like a cross between pork and beef. Neither fully one nor the other, but blending the best of both. I prep the leanest cut. Out comes the massive stainless-steel cauldron dubbed the "bear pot" just for this.
Water, bay leaves, pepper, soy sauce in the pot. Toss in a bunch of green onions bought on the way and four or five onions. Layer the bottom with onions and green onions, pack it tight with meat bricks. More onions and green onions on top, then meat... Three layers. Insane.
Induction on under the bear pot. Might take longer than gas. No biggie. It'll simmer for hours anyway.
Set timer back an hour, fridge the rest, do some chores. Vacuum after ages—usually just wipes. Finish cleaning, vague dish pile-up, shower: 90 minutes gone. Peeked midway, added 30, so done now.
"...Still under?"
Too much ingredient? Induction too weak? Pink in the center. Could eat it like this... but red juices seep from the cut. Needs more. Set alarm for 50 minutes, sort the closet.
Spring's coming. Time for spring clothes.
After over two hours twenty total, it's finally done.
"Whew..."
Lid off—meat aroma blasts out. Fan on, but it hits my face thick. Onions, green onions, pepper, soy—steamed vibe. Not as intense as real steaming, though...
"Mm."
Tongs grab a chunk onto the board. Springy. Huge piece cooked tender. Too moist for boiled meat, too firm for steamed. Knife in—it quivers like pudding.
Slice like normal meat, give it force—nearly topple. Knife glides through butter-soft. More like it parted on its own...
...Pop a slice in. Melts smooth. Well-boiled tendons dissolve slick on the tongue. Fibers scatter along the grain, trapped juices and moisture explode in my mouth.
Perfection. Perfectly boiled meat.
"With this..."
Meat lovers do it once: not slicing dainty, but barbarically tearing chunks. Tough meat risks broken teeth, but this tender...
"Whoa...!"
Gloves on, hoist the chunk. Hot from the pot. Fumble to mouth with both hands. Then—big savage bite...!
"...!"
Yes! Baby-fist-sized bites chew easy! Despite the mass, it sloshes light like liquid. Chunk dissolves, unleashing floods of juice. Jaw aches. Cheeks balloon. Can't open now—disaster...!
Force it down through clenched teeth—deep breath flows natural. Long inhale... heavy exhale.
"...Smaller bites would work fine."
Got greedy there. Try smaller this time?
Gnaw through the whole slab—odd satisfaction... satisfaction... satisfaction... none!
Weird. Ate nearly a jin—over 600g—and no fullness. Melts to liquid? That's a ton!
"...No rice?"
Yeah. Maybe no rice. Or veggies. But good—usually I'd stop halfway full, but now I gotta clear it all. This subtle hunger means more room!
Pot check: onions and green onions long melted into broth. That richness? Meat suddenly feels heavier, greasier.
Fridge: kimchi and radish pickles. Pile on, barbaric double-hand mid-chunk munch. Like cartoon fish-gobbling—chomp chomp.
Cooled outside firms up. Unlike the melt-fest earlier, this chews tough on the jaw. But fresh kimchi's punch hits...
"Urk."
Jaw tingles. Damn. Kimchi sour sparks saliva, zaps the whole jaw. But eases the fatigue!