Canteen System Assistance Notes

"Roosevelt interrupted Carlson and asked solemnly.

No, Mr. President. I don't think so. In fact, nearly 20 years ago, key CCP leaders held key positions in the Nationalist government and successfully defeated the old Beiyang warlords. Chiang Kai-shek's sudden arrests and massacres of CCP members were largely responsible for the CCP's breakaway from the Nationalist government. But now, I believe that while there is still resentment within the CCP towards the Nationalist government, they are ultimately considering the greater good and controlling their delicate emotions... In short, they hope to avoid any internal friction, unite against the enemy, and defeat the Japanese.

Carlson continued to explain to the President the complex situation in Shanxi Province in North China. Prior to the February Incident, the Communists and the Eighth Route Army had shown great respect for Yan Baichuan's Shanxi provincial government and the Kuomintang. However, local officials and Kuomintang representatives rarely cooperated with the Eighth Route Army's actions, often disparaging its role and even surrendering to the Japanese. To maintain a united front, the Communists maintained what could be described as compromise measures. It was only after the February Incident that the Communists, overcome with frustration, launched a massive counterattack, ultimately driving Yan's forces completely from Shanxi Province.

Zhu De and other Eighth Route Army leaders also told him that Chiang Kai-shek had not provided any crucial assistance since the beginning of the war. In fact, the Eighth Route Army had launched campaigns such as the Great Production Movement and, with the help of overseas Chinese, had made great industrial progress, particularly in the production of consumer goods. Now, it was Chiang Kai-shek's subordinate regions that were actively engaging in trade, obtaining the various necessary supplies.

"Mao once said to me, 'The blockade makes us self-reliant, and the more we are blockaded, the stronger we become.' As I have seen, their determination, ability and achievements are impressive.

Skin care is now undergoing vigorous industrialization. Perhaps this is the reason.

—Strong evidence for the claim.

As Carlson spoke, he pulled out a pack of Fushi cigarettes with a picture of three standing men and handed it to the president. The chain-smoking president expertly opened the pack, pulled out a cigarette, held it to his nose and sniffed it, then pulled out a lighter and lit it. The familiar aroma of Virginia flue-cured tobacco washed over him, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief, his solemn expression relaxing.

Then, under Mrs. Roosevelt's gaze, the president quickly and somewhat awkwardly put out his cigarette in the glass ashtray.

To lighten the mood, Carlson told some new stories and jokes about Fushe and the base area, including Mao's "One World, One Dream" T-shirt.

And he himself bought nearly $30 at a time because he couldn't control himself.

An interesting fact about the merchandise—exotic goods were really expensive in that seemingly isolated place—was about a month's salary for a Marine private.

A Soviet government representative named "Bearsky" got drunk and wandered around the streets at night. Finally, he grabbed a millstone and spun around, and finally fell asleep.

For example, drunkards in Britain, the Soviet Union, and Germany quarreled over trivial matters.

And the bar brawls, where the security guards had to raise their shields and mobilize all their forces to subdue these tall, strong drunks; and the British who, when the air raid sirens sounded, slowly walked towards the air-raid shelter with their large enamel teacups and jam toast - while the French and Soviets were running.

The president couldn't help laughing.

"Those British guys are still the same, they haven't changed at all!" "Major, what do you think Mao is like?" Mrs. Roosevelt interrupted.

"He was a man who could understand the British, ma'am. Once, when Japanese planes were approaching Fushe, he was so engrossed in a book that the guards had to carry him, chair to chair, into the air-raid shelter..." Carlson remarked humorously. The President also inquired with interest about Mao's demeanor during his meeting with Carlson in the cave, and he expressed some interest in the new slogan.

As time passed, the sky gradually darkened.

"Mr. President, this martini is amazing. It feels like you are drinking refreshing mist instead of alcohol." The president raised his eyebrows proudly upon hearing this.

"Even Republican Willkie admitted that I was not only a competent president, but also a good bartender."

The joke wasn't very funny, but coming from the president, Carlson laughed politely. The wine, the comfortable room, the presence of his wife and dog, and the president's innocent delight in his own minor accomplishments all gave him a warm, homey feeling.

"How about another martini, Major?" "Thank you, sir, I won't have any." "It's getting late, dear," Mrs. Roosevelt said complainingly.

"Ah, that's right. I have a few reports to look over."

Roosevelt's red, ever-changing face once again took on a serious, tired expression. He began to cough, glanced at his wife, and then rang the doorbell. A Marine lieutenant in an olive-drab uniform appeared at the door. "You will return to China and continue to serve the United States. Not as a civilian, but as Lieutenant Colonel Evans Carlson of the Marine Corps. We need further intelligence to determine our China policy."

"Yes, yes, Mr. President."

A strange gleam appeared in the president's tired eyes, but it quickly faded. "Goodbye, Evans."

Chapter 349: What do the International Brigade eat?

"....Your roasted pork knuckle is really good, crispy and fragrant, absolutely amazing!"

"Oh, that's it! You added a sauce made of grape juice, vinegar and onions..."

"Damn it! You can't break the baguette into pieces, it's blasphemy - can't you use fried dough sticks or bread?"

A lively buffet was set up in the large cafeteria of the "No. 11 Coal Mine" in Huinong District. In November, this mine, located in the Saishang Coal City, had been operating smoothly for nearly a year without any problems, and had even met its production targets ahead of schedule. Any output from now on will be considered as exceeding the target, and will be rewarded with commendations and awards.

This was a big, happy occasion. The representatives of the mine's Party Committee voted unanimously to grant everyone an extra day off, and to hold a buffet dinner in the cafeteria that evening.

However, the canteen will only be responsible for two-thirds of the dishes allocated. The remaining dishes will be prepared by the various work groups, offering the rest of the dishes a taste of their respective hometowns. At the end of the meal, everyone will vote to select the "most popular dish." To this end, the canteen has also opened an open-air cooking area for the miners' groups to prepare their meals.

If this happened at any other coal mine, it might have been a grand competition of cuisines from all corners of the globe. But at "Coal Mine No. 7," the main battlefield shifted from the ancient East Asian nation, across the Eurasian continent, and directly to the various European countries. The reason was simple: Coal Mine No. 7 had another name—the "Internationalist Coal Mine."

The China Resources Group's European Recruitment Office, operating since 1938, not only recruited numerous "troublemakers" from the Communist Party who had been sent packing by the British, but also took in many evacuated International Brigades during their evacuation of Spain. The China Resources system, responsible for recruiting these workers, offered them two options: receive travel expenses and be sent home, or accept a "job" arranged by China Resources and travel to the distant and unfamiliar country of the Far East.

Many chose the first option. After experiencing the war, many longed to return home to their families, their wives, and their children. But many also chose the second option. Because the regimes in countries like Germany and Italy had been taken over by the fascists, these internationalist fighters were not only unable to return home but also faced the risk of being wanted and arrested. Furthermore, the fascists' Far Eastern allies, the damned Japanese fascists, were invading this ancient country, and the people there urgently needed help from anti-fascist forces.

At the very least, China Resources' salary and benefits are very good, and they also promise to help settle the relocated families. In this turbulent year, it is a very good choice.

Of course, we should not have such utilitarian ideas about these internationalist fighters who are willing to travel long distances to places that have nothing to do with them and fight for beautiful ideals and just causes.

After arriving in the border area, many soldiers with rich combat experience chose to become tactical instructors or technical instructors of the Eighth Route Army. Many also chose to contribute their energy in industrial and mining enterprises to provide reliable rear support for the soldiers on the front line.

One of them is Vito Abel, a Spanish chef. Originally from Catalonia, he once worked in a local coal mine. Upon arriving here, he chose to return to his roots and became a team leader for underground operations. Now, he's the "head chef" of his team.

"Go away, there's no 'baguette treaty' here. I used the leftover hard bread from this morning to save food—what are you doing pretending to be the baguette police?

Having just dismissed an angry Frenchman, Abel scooped a dripping lump of dough from his bowl and placed it in an open oilcloth bag. A worker nearby had already heated the oil pan, waiting for the chef to start cooking. "So these churros are squeezed out, not soaked. I guess they'll be like crispy fruit when fried. Hmm... Spanish comrade, what do you dip these churros into?"

"Oh, my fellow countrymen over there all eat it with powdered sugar," said Abel, who could understand some of the other party's questions and replied, "It would be even better if there was condensed milk."

“Ah…..sweet, so sweet…”

An older man from Henan Province frowned and walked away without looking back, leaving Abel completely bewildered. He scratched his head, unable to figure out what flavors the churros could be made into besides sweet. So, he directed his Italian coworkers to chop up the bell peppers and red bell peppers and crush them in a mortar they'd bought from a stonemason, while he continued twisting the perforated oilcloth bag in his hand like a towel and dropping the batter into the frying pan.

The tender, pale yellow batter, a long, thin strand, resembled the cream on a cake. As soon as it jumped into the frying pan, it erupted in a sizzling, bubbling mass, shooting upward in bubbles, swaying endlessly on the surface, releasing a sweet, pleasant aroma. Because of the batter's long, thin strands, this pan-diving performance quickly evolved into a pan-frying game. Abel drew circles with his hands, and a stream of batter spiraled down evenly like a mosquito coil, tumbling up and down within the pan.

By the time the batter, which had been rising and falling continuously, had solidified and formed into a crispy coating, and was lazily dozing on the oily surface, the churros were ready. Abel expertly picked up his chopsticks and placed the churros on the grate to drain the oil. Later, all he had to do was cut the large plate of fragrant churros into sections and sprinkle them with powdered sugar, and tonight's dessert would be complete.

"Ronin, Ronin, almonds and hazelnuts need to be finer. Romesco sauce relies on them to enhance its flavor. Next, you just need to fry the tomatoes and mash them together with these..."

Desserts were almost ready, leaving only the dishes. The Germans at the mine had prepared a classic roast pork knuckle with turnips and a rich, pan-fried sausage. They were watching over the charcoal grill, staring at the thermometer, controlling the heat and temperature like they were conducting an experiment.

Abel's team was responsible for the snacks and vegetables. Chef Abel's assistant, Italian Ronin, one of the leaders of European cuisine, was working on the other side of the chopping board. "Crush them all together? Crush the tomatoes, the bell peppers, the chili peppers, the bread, and the nuts?"

"Yes."

Italian worker Ronin's hand froze in mid-air as he pinched a pinch of dried basil powder. "No basil?"

"Of course not." "Do you want vinegar?"

Of course, how else can you make a sweet and sour Romesco sauce?" Abel was puzzled. "Just mix them all together and blend until it thickens." "No! Unbelievable, this is ridiculous!"

Surprisingly, the Italian Ronin put down the basil in his hand, shook his head and waved his hands. "Abel! You're messing around! Did the British teach you to cook?" He was also a little angry. "Tomato sauce must have oregano and basil! But you only have garlic and pepper, and you put all these weird things in it. This is not qualified tomato sauce!"

"Romesco sauce is not tomato sauce, it's just a tomato base with vinegar, bell peppers, and nuts!"

But I've never heard of this strange sauce—a tomato sauce that can only be paired with olive oil and garlic, and must contain oregano and basil!" Ronin showed a rare serious expression, like a German. "Abel, I think we should stick to the classic recipe that Italy has used since Roman times. Believe me, the soul of Italian cuisine lies in these delicious tomatoes. My Italian tomato sauce will definitely make our grilled vegetables the brightest star of the party!"

The two men engaged in a relentless argument, trying to convince each other that their sauce was superior. Abel repeatedly explained that Romesco sauce was a traditional Catalan flavor, a classic sauce for fish and vegetables. Ronin, on the other hand, insisted that there was no sauce more versatile than tomato sauce, and that its fame would spread from Rome to the Far East, enchanting everyone with the glory of Italian cuisine.

The workers in the team gathered around and tried to persuade the two stubborn guys, and they all told them that the main dish was the same and there was still plenty of ingredients.

It’s better to make one of each and dip it in whatever you want.

The tomato on the table was split into two portions, and the ingredients were gathered separately. Without much thought, the team members automatically split into two groups, one group gathered around Abel, and the other gathered around Roning. The two chefs clearly didn't hold back, and they started competing with each other, meticulously explaining the secrets of making the dipping sauce to their colleagues.

"When mixing the Romesco sauce, you have to be very patient and meticulous. After adding the roasted garlic and bell peppers, slowly add the oil and stir until the fat and sauce are perfectly combined... Yes, this is the time to be patient and meticulous, just like a chemistry experiment."

“To make Italian tomato sauce, you need to use low heat and simmer the sauce slowly to allow the spices and tomatoes to blend perfectly and exude the delicious flavor of the soul…

So, when the bonfire was lit at night and everyone brought out the fruits of their afternoon's work, in addition to the Spanish dough sticks as snacks, there were two pots of bright red and fragrant dipping sauces on the dining table of Abel's team.

"Comrades, what have you prepared?" The man in charge of counting the votes came over. Voting for the most popular dish at the party was a standard feature. Besides the snacks and dipping sauces, he saw bundles of roasted vegetable pieces, each one tinged with green and black.

“It’s Spanish roasted green onions/Italian stewed green onions!”

They both said in unison, and after glaring at each other, they each introduced how to eat this dish - just peel off the outer shell of the green onion with mud on it, roast it until it is crispy, and you can eat the juicy and sweet green onion slices. If you add a delicious Spanish or Italian dipping sauce, the taste will be even better.

"Oh! It's green onion dipping sauce, very good, you made a green onion dipping sauce!" Group number of this book: 7751118:38

The comrade from Shandong Province tasted one, nodded, and then wrote something on the notebook.

Chapter 350: Shaanxi-Gansu-Ningxia Punk Bartender Action

At 10:30 in the morning, Gil Alonso-Valencia was awakened by the digital clock beside his bed. "Today and tomorrow are daytime offs, and tomorrow night is the night shift..."

With her messy hair, the little girl from Barcelona glanced at the schedule pinned to the wall with thumbtacks, then lazily got up from the bed and cut off the ticking sound of her electronic watch.

After a late-night shift, anyone would be exhausted and just want to sleep. This teenage girl was no exception. She took the quilt off her shoulders and opened the window. The bright sunlight from outside streamed in, shattering into blurry shadows and halos as it passed through the window paper.

Well, it's a nice day today.

I have to take the quilt out to dry in the sun.

Early November in Huinong was already quite cold. By the time the girl had washed, tied her hair, changed her clothes, and added a shovel of coal to the heated kang, the midday sun's heat had already reached its peak, almost overheating her. Jill returned to her bedroom, brought out the large floral quilt, and with a hop and a swing, spread it out to dry on the clothesline at the back of the yard.

At that moment, the sound of a motorcycle engine revved up from the front of the yard. She stuck her head out and saw a blue "No. 14" motorcycle stop in front of the yard. A tall, sturdy man jumped off the motorcycle, carrying a lunch box in his arms.

"Jill! Lunch in the cafeteria!" The big man took off his helmet, revealing his short white hair. "Eggplant rice and scrambled eggs with tomatoes! Both your favorites.

"Oh! Just put it on the table. Papa Luigi, won't you sit down for a while?"

"My dear Jill, I'm so sorry! I have to go! The British welders from the Second Machinery Plant played basketball with the Russians yesterday and lost by 34 points. They even mocked them! Today, I'm afraid they'll start fighting again at work, so I have to go and support them!" Papa Luigi put on his white patrol helmet and quickly hopped back on his motorcycle. "I'll come back tonight. The food gets cold quickly, so you should eat early. If you can't finish it, you can heat it up in the fireplace!"

"Oh, okay!"

"The British lost? They're not used to losing yet... Never mind. Even if it comes to a fight, the British can't beat the Soviets. With Papa Luigi leading the patrol, there's no way they'll start a fight."

Jill muttered to herself as she hung the clothes out to dry, picked up the already slightly cold lunch box, and went back to the house to finish her brunch. To be honest, it tasted good.

It should be brought back by Papa Luigi from the mess hall of the International Brigade.

The food there was provided by the Huinong Eighth Route Army Training Center. The chef was from Sichuan Province. The stir-fried eggplant was made with Pixian bean paste, which tasted great. Ever since arriving in this Far Eastern country with the members of the "Garibaldi" Battalion of the International Brigade, Jill had felt that his stomach was increasingly gravitating towards the local cuisine.

The International Brigades came from all corners of the country, each specializing in a different area. For example, the Italian "Garibaldi" Brigade was well versed in mountain warfare, with some even having served in the mountain assault units of World War I. The German "Thälmann" Battalion included many coal miners and doctors who treated the wounded on the battlefield. The French volunteers included many artists. With due respect and consideration for their individual wishes, these individuals, each with their own unique expertise, served in various positions in the border regions and base areas.

But among them, there are also some non-combatants like Jill. They may be doctors and nurses, logistical supplies, or relatives of soldiers. They may also be orphans like Jill - in that World War II preview, Jill, who was still in school, lost her parents, classmates and teachers. When she was rescued from the ruins after the German bombing, she met the Italian members of the Garibaldi Brigade and was able to save her life in the chaos.

"Jill! My little cutie, are you taking a break today, or are you going to help out at the club?"

"Yes, Aunt Lilia, Aunt Li, thank you for your help!"

Jill packed her lunchbox and stuffed it into her backpack. After saying hello to the women in the dorm, she headed for the "Future Workers' Club" in the industrial area. It was a simple, one-story brick building, like a perfectly ordinary building block, tucked into the middle of the road between the dormitories and the workers' area, like a gas station with a neon sign on an American highway. However, there were no parking areas with cacti and tumbleweeds, or Western-style cowboy singers playing guitar. Instead, there was a parking area for bicycles and animal-drawn vehicles, and a raised radio antenna that provided the club with classical music from Radio Fu She.

In addition to working as a night nurse at a nearby hospital, Jill, who had already graduated from high school, also worked part-time as an administrator here. She unlocked the door with her key, hung her schoolbag on the coat rack, and pulled the lightbulb cord to test it—the light was on, so it wasn't broken.

Wires, raised on poles, branched off here, delivering alternating current. Previously, because the power came from the Huinong Iron Works' power plant, the fluctuations in the furnace's load had severely impacted the bulbs' lifespan. Only after the civilian power supply was separated did things improve. Jill walked around, fetched a bucket of water, and began cleaning the workers' club.

"We are brothers from Spain and Italy, fighting with the same courage. Facing death and glory, our hearts beat the same in our chests..." In the deserted club, the backs of the chairs were turned upside down and placed on the table. Bathed in the afternoon sun, they were like a forest of gun barrels, marching to the marching music.

Jill hummed a song as she swept and mopped the concrete floor of the club.

Then, she opened the wine cabinet and refrigerator behind the bar and checked the drinks and snacks inside.

Gin, champagne, and sherry. Why is there so little of the German Jägermeister left? Is that potion-like stuff really that good? Tonic water and soda water, yes, there's still some of those two left. The pickles, salted fish, and fried pork skin are almost gone—they're really delicious. I'll have to have some brought over tonight."

The young woman ticked off items on a list with familiarity. The previous administrator on duty had written down the items consumed during his shift on a piece of sticky paper, like an airplane's takeoff checklist, representing the club's inventory of drinks and snacks. When the list had a string of red ticks and a few dashes, Jill pinned the sticky paper to the noticeboard, grabbed the phone in the corner, and dialed a number.

"Hello? Is this the 6th branch of the Huinong Supply and Marketing Cooperative? Ah, I'm Jill, yes, Jill from the Workers' Club..."

At 5:30 in the afternoon, Gil Alonso-Valencia was interrupted from his thoughts by the electronic clock on the bar.

The sun had almost set outside the window, the remaining orange sunlight filtering through, casting long shadows and creating a sense of airy space. Jill, a young woman absorbed in watching "Learn Chinese with Me," turned off her beeping digital watch, hopped off her bar stool, opened the club door, and stretched out under the cool northwest sky.

In the distance, the bustling factory is crowded with people, as workers from the morning shift and the evening shift are about to hand over. At this time, this "Future Workers Club" is also the busiest.

Soviets, Chinese, British, Italians, and Spanish people all came here to hang out, work, chat about the day's work, the latest news, or complain about the trivialities of life, the international situation, chat, and brag—life doesn't have to be always tense and solemn, full of lofty ideals; a little relaxation is as essential as a bowl of rice. Jill cracked her hands hard, making a crackling sound. Tonight, she and the workers' families who were about to arrive would manage this workers' club and provide a good rest environment for the comrades after a day of hard work.

As for a disturbance? Don't worry, that kind of thing wouldn't happen at the Future Workers' Club. Jill only needed to snap her fingers, and a group of tall, burly old men would step forward and escort the drunken fool out the door. She flipped the main switch in the circuit breaker box, and the lion and sign at the club entrance lit up.

Chapter 351: Changing Positions to Grab Business

Throughout the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression, even during the most concentrated bombing of mountain cities by Japanese aircraft, the Japanese Air Force was limited by its logistical organization capabilities and battlefield maintenance level, and its ability to continuously organize large aircraft groups on the Chinese battlefield was very poor.

During a typical battle, the Japanese Army Air Force's primary deployment pattern was a "swarm launch + small, frequent sorties" model. This meant that in the early stages of a battle, relying on the better condition of their aircraft and their supply reserves, they would launch one or two assaults resembling full-deck carrier attacks to destroy the Nationalist fighters. Later, due to a shortage of supplies, the Japanese Army Air Force would relegate itself to sporadic sorties of a few small groups for support and harassment. However, because air superiority was already in hand and ground forces were generally in the ascendant, this "tactical guidance" model rarely led to any problems.

To be honest, this mode is basically the typical combat mode of a small air force.

So, when Yuncheng, the Japanese air force's core in North China, was crippled by intermittent mortar barrages, even a powerful unit like the Third Air Group struggled to maintain a permanent presence in Shanxi Province. After a head-on attack by the Eighth Route Army Air Force, the Japanese air attack faltered like a bag of potato chips drained of air, unable to sustain itself. Only a few sneak attacks remained, and the Eighth Route Army Air Force used them as targets for training new personnel.

This continuous blood loss quickly caused the Third Air Group and the First Army to terminate such futile attacks, making it easier for them to rely on the base and the front-line airport for logistics.

(The road is not so depressing - but after all, the border area cannot produce combat

The Eighth Route Army could not bear it if the war continued for a long time, so the air force took advantage of the situation and took advantage of the rare opportunity to rest, rotate personnel, and repair the damage.

This strange tranquility was soon broken in November 1940.

A few days ago, the Eighth Route Army Air Force located east of Yichuan received intelligence from an air observation post that a Japanese Type 97 reconnaissance plane was flying from southeast to northwest across Henghe and Yicheng.

There is an intention to conduct reconnaissance in the border area.

This was a fairly common air situation management operation. Prior to the Battle of Zhongtiao Mountain, the Japanese had repeatedly attempted aerial reconnaissance of the border region, only to be repelled by the air force, often resulting in their downfall and capture. Furthermore, the Japanese had already lost over ten aircraft in the recent Battle of Zhongtiao Mountain, and the Eighth Route Army's airmen were impressed by the Japanese army's tenacity.

The Japanese troops using this route would usually turn north over the Yellow River, and then navigate along the Yan River to penetrate deep into the border areas. Relying on this experience, they deployed a 4-plane formation at Liangshui'an, the junction of the Yan River and the Yellow River, waiting for the devil's plane to fall into the trap.