When things got desperate, we froze the food into a one-meter cube. Built a plywood frame, lined it with plastic, dumped everything in. Filled the rest with water like mortar.
It’s all there—lentil soup and mashed sweet potatoes and cubed beef and ravioli. Now we chip off blocks, melt them over the fire. It’s usually a mixture.
We trade forkfuls from our bowls. We’re back on the floor of the Mercantile Exchange, a spin of spaghetti for three coins of carrot.
How do we keep the food frozen when it’s so pinching hot out? Here, come in the freezer, I’ll show you how it works—