Neville fired up the stove and poured a bit of oil into the pan. The moment the meat hit the hot surface, it hissed—loud, sizzling, filling the kitchen with that rich, savory aroma—thankfully, it seemed to smell like genuine food.
Mushrooms next. They darkened fast, their edges curling as they cooked down.
The Cyano mushrooms released moisture, forming a glossy sauce pooling at the bottom of the meat. He sprinkled in salt, pepper (from the system mall), and a few questionable "spices" that bore only a passing resemblance to Earth ingredients—and kept stirring.
Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose.
Then the Ananas Padma fruit went on the cutting board next. He sliced it into bite-sized chunks, the fruit releasing a sweet-tart scent that was the only thing in this kitchen not trying to depress him, and made his stomach growl. It would serve as a palate cleanser, something light to balance the heavy stuff.
He plated the stir-fry and stepped back to take a look at his work.
