Tied off between the netted muslin cloth, the grains slowly sank to the bottom of the steaming water, and sweet, earthy notes rose as the hot water drew it down, soaking it to the thin string at the edge of the pot.
"It's a touch more than I'd use for a grain mash," Zaofan said to Shochu, "Never been too much for a darker brew, myself. But hey, we'll consider this one a test batch."
Once they let it go, the roasted grainsand nutbrown caramelization began to spread deeply, and the Lookout's kitchen was perfumed with a warm, malty air. A keg of pale ale for the future of stouts was beginning to seem like more than a fair trade. Still, this was an endeavour that required patience, and it had not yet been a day.
While he waited for the grains to settle - one last stir for good measure - he turned his attention to tending the kitchen space, when suddenly he found several containers splayed out on the counter.
"What the- " Even from a distance, Shochu could see his eye twitch, and the efforts he took to mellow his breathing. "-did someone go for a food run and forget we had a fridge?!"
It was a point of personal pride for him that he knew exactly what lay within cool and dry storage in the kitchen space; not only so he could prepare on a short notice, but also because even with the rate this group tended to go through things, there was an exacting flow of old and new ingredients that had to be maintained.
As he had seen from the Eight-Star Eatery to the fishing village off the Paprika Coast, the constant maxim was that absolute worst kind of chef is a
wastefulone.
Slowly, he opened a contained and took a small sniff and-
"...what is this stuff?"
Zaofan's eyes darted from the specific instructions, back to the alien ingredients, then back to the instructions again.
...I have no idea which one of these things is which.