If I were a skilled chef, this wheat would be ground into flour to make delicious bread or sweet porridge, but at this moment, I pride myself on not being inferior to the chefs because the aroma of the golden roasted wheat grains far surpasses the former for a hungry me.
I first pick out a few overly roasted grains to sneak a bite, and the fragrance of the seeds bursts in my mouth, followed by pain—I hold my aching jaw muscles for a while, then before my stomach starts contracting from hunger, I pour the remaining grains in my palm into my mouth.
Unfortunately, there's only a small bag, enough to stave off hunger just for today.
The roasted grains are very dry, and I don't want to feel parched while waiting for water. So, I temporarily move the tray away from the fireplace and go back to the downstairs kitchen to rummage for discarded, unflattened tin cans, a bundle of hemp rope, and even find a rusty kitchen knife under the cabinet.
