The night is as dark as ink, with only the flames in the courtyard's bonfire leaping, casting flickering shadows on the faces of those seated around it.
A plump native black-headed sheep is placed over the charcoal, roasting to a golden, crispy skin, the sizzling sound constant, with hot fat dripping down and exploding into momentary sparks on the scorching charcoal, rising up in a blend of burnt fragrance and smoky cumin aroma.
Song Heping, holding a sharp tactical dagger, skillfully and steadily slices off a large piece of sheep meat, crispy on the outside and tender within, with crunchy bones and steaming heat, placing it first into the tin plate before Ferrari.
Then, he also distributes some to White Bear and Queen.
"Taste it, native black-headed sheep, not much of a gamey taste, meat is firm and tender."
Song Heping said, holding up the cup in front of him, filled with clear water.
