Chapter 7: You Gotta Oil Up While Living (3) |
***
Raw flesh, bones, innards, and blood.
The greasy residue and leftover food in the sink, a dishcloth bloated and torn from hot water.
In a class society where keeping one's hands clean was a mark of dignity, the kitchen was not a place suited for a noble.
Especially in a world setting like this, where you had to contend with rats and bugs.
I stepped into a place that was practically taboo for a noble.
'The ingredients... they're here.'
I laid out the ingredients I had brought and those that were already here.
Seaweed, abalone, cream... and so on.
First, I submerged the blackened, dried-up seaweed in water.
The dead seaweed absorbed the moisture, reclaiming its original green color as it bloomed.
While the seaweed soaked, I turned my attention to the abalone.
'Let's not add the innards.'
I slid a spoon between the muscle and the shell.
I separated the adductor muscle and set the removed innards aside.
The innards would be too bitter for a mother in childbirth, who would be particularly sensitive.
Besides, the color and flavor wouldn't go well with the risotto.
Next, I coated a pan with cooking oil and heated it.
When the aroma of garlic rose, I added the squeezed-out seaweed and soaked rice.
I poured in the broth and stirred slowly until the fresh cream and cheese melted in.
Stirring without rest until the rice released its starch and the broth thickened.
Finally, I plated the dish and neatly topped it with abalone slices pan-fried to a golden brown in butter.
With that, the risotto was complete.
"Please have a taste, Young Lady."
I dished out a small portion of risotto into a small bowl and held it out to Freya.
She carefully picked up her spoon, then hesitated before the plate.
Although it was colored with white cheese and cream, the occasional flecks of deep blue-green seemed entirely unfamiliar to her.
The fact that it was a dish made from seaweed, and its color that vaguely resembled a potion.
There was more than one reason for her hesitation.
But Freya soon squeezed her eyes shut and took a spoonful.
"...!"
"How is it?"
"...It's delicious."
"That's a relief."
I nodded and began plating the portion for Mother.
Since I was doing it anyway, I might as well do it right. I channeled a fine-dining chef and paid close attention to the plating.
As I was pouring my heart and soul into the decoration, Freya spoke.
"Older Brother."
"Yes?"
"...Could you make this again?"
It was an unexpected request.
"You liked it?"
"Yes! It's different from what I usually eat."
Freya said, looking down at her empty bowl.
"I've never had anything so soft, unlike the things usually filled with pepper and oil."
Ah, that makes sense.
The cuisine of the nobles inside the walls is generally swimming in spices.
Pepper, cloves, nutmeg, and so on.
It was a way to show off their power by lavishly sprinkling spices that were difficult to grow within the walls.
Thanks to that, no matter what a noble ate, their tongue would go numb, and their stomach would be soaked in oil. Indigestion was a given.
To a child accustomed to such a diet, how would the soft, savory flavor of cream and cheese taste?
It must have been an unfamiliar yet shocking experience.
"Alright. I'll make it for you sometimes."
"...Really?"
"But there's a problem."
"Yes?"
Wiping my used kitchen knife on a cloth, I pointed to the kitchen entrance.
My eyes met with the Head Butler, who was frozen at the entrance.
"I don't know if I'll ever be allowed back in the kitchen."
***
I sometimes think that there are so many taboos in this world.
Men must not trespass into the domain of a midwife.
Children must not trespass into the domain of adults.
Doctors must not trespass into the domain of a healer.
You can't do this, you can't do that.
It's gotten to the point where I feel it would be faster to just make a list of things you are allowed to do.
And today.
I broke another taboo.
The taboo of a Young Master daring to get his hands wet in the kitchen.
"Young Master. Where on earth did you learn to..."
"I learned it while working on Tanner Street. There were no cooks there."
I replied to the Head Butler's question while cooling the still-hot risotto.
For the record, Tanner Street is the polite way of referring to the Red-Light District.
With Freya listening right next to me, I couldn't very well say I worked in the Brothel District.
"Still, to do such a lowly thing..."
The Head Butler muttered, looking at the dish I had made.
Why is cooking considered lowly?
For a moment, those words nearly escaped my lips, but I held my tongue.
'They wouldn't understand even if I told them.'
For a cook to be treated as an artisan, something on the scale of a French Revolution in another world would have to happen.
It was only after that that a chef could hold their head high in front of nobles.
But in a world setting where the Emperor can have a character deletion match with a dragon, I think such a revolution will never come.
So I just took a different approach.
It wasn't that cooking wasn't lowly, but that my heart in doing the cooking was not.
"Head Butler. This is a medicinal food for my Mother (Formal). Making medicine is not a lowly task, is it?"
"Well, that is true, but..."
"If it means my Mother (Formal) can eat this and regain her strength, I would even scrub the floors. Is that not a child's duty?"
"...!"
The Head Butler's eyes trembled uncontrollably.
The way he bit his lip, unable to speak, suggested an emotion surging up from deep within him.
He's probably overcome with emotion on the inside.
'In truth, I started cooking partly for my all-rounder concept, and partly because the food in this world is so awful I wanted to make something for myself to eat.'
I saw no need to reveal the whole truth.
Everyone has an over-packaged element or two about themselves, right?
The Head Butler took the tray with trembling hands.
It wasn't my imagination that the corners of his eyes were moist.
"You should take it before it gets cold. Cream doesn't taste as good once it cools."
"Yes, yes! I will take it up at once."
The Head Butler hastily turned and left the kitchen.
His retreating figure even looked tragic.
His reaction was so dramatic it almost made me feel as if I had prepared the Last Supper.
Freya, who was beside me, looked up at me, her eyes sparkling.
"Older Brother... I think you're really amazing."
I shrugged.
I sometimes think that being praised for something like this is a sign that the power of the misunderstanding genre is a bit too much.
Still...
'It's better than sarcasm.'
In the 21st Century where I lived, praise was more expensive than gold.
Even if you saved a dying person, it was considered the natural duty of a technician who had to earn their keep.
What happened if a doctor showed the slightest interest in something other than academic papers or patients?
Reprimands like 'You should be sleeping instead' or 'You've got it easy' would come flying at you.
You say not everyone was like that?
Well, the malicious comments on the documentary I appeared in said otherwise.
They cursed me out, saying I was getting ahead of myself when I wasn't even a professor.
They had no qualms saying all sorts of nasty things to the precious Young Lord of trauma surgery.
When I think of that dry world, this kind of mindless praise seems a hundred, a thousand times better.
"Alright. Let's go up. Freya, you want to eat next to Mother (Formal), right?"
"Yes!"
"Then I'll grab your portion too. And mine."
For the record, I made sure to leave the carrots out of Freya's bowl.
*
I headed to the room, carrying the tray.
Ah, not a 'tray,' a tray.
The habits of my previous life haven't completely faded.
When I reached the door, the Godfather was there.
He had his face pressed against the crack of the open door, observing Fried and Mother with eyes dripping with honey.
His fingers, clasped behind his back, fidgeted restlessly, looking as if he wanted to burst inside and gobble Fried up right this second.
Unfortunately, not even the Godfather could be permitted to touch Fried whenever he pleased.
He was a premature infant whose immunity level was already rock bottom.
Bringing in any kind of germ from the outside could be a fatal blow.
For at least the next 100 days, I had no choice but to restrict anyone other than the mother in childbirth and the doctor from touching the baby.
It might seem excessive, but in this era, this much was necessary to save a premature infant.
'Should I hang a forbidden rope at the entrance until then?'
With that thought, I approached the Godfather from behind.
"Are you here to see Fried?"
"Yulian...!"
The Godfather turned to me, startled.
The rims of his eyes were red.
The Godfather looked at me with eyes full of emotion.
"I heard what happened last night."
"Ah, if it's about that, there are no problems. And there won't be any in the future."
Because I'm here.
Who am I? The protagonist who will one day be called a saint.
It was then.
Lurch!
The Godfather pulled me into an embrace with enough force to crush my ribs.
I barely managed to toss the tray I was holding to the Head Butler. Nice catch.
"Yulian! Thank you. I'm so grateful..."
His ragged breaths were delivered directly to my ear.
He squeezed my shoulder to compose himself, then turned his gaze to the Head Butler behind me.
"Send back the carpenter I called for this morning. There will be no need for a coffin."
It seemed he thought Fried wouldn't make it through the night.
In this bleak world, that might be common sense, but I'm still a little disappointed. To think he didn't trust me when the Angel of the Brothel District was on guard.
...Is there any way to change this title?
"And the wood prepared for the coffin... yes. It would be better to use it as firewood to keep our Fried and Linier warm in this room."
The Head Butler sniffled and nodded.
Jeez. Why is everyone like this?
Their reactions are a bit much.
But it wasn't my first time experiencing this, so I took it calmly.
I'd lost count of the people in the Red-Light District who reacted this way.
Unlike the 21st Century where survival was a given, in this punk genre world where death is a given, perhaps such a reaction is to be expected.
"Yulian. By the way, what is this?"
A few minutes later.
The Godfather, having barely shaken off the lingering emotion, finally noticed the food.
"Is this... caudle?... No, it's not. Risotto. Did you have the head chef make this?"
"I made it myself."
"You did?"
The Family Head's eyebrows knitted together.
Why does everyone react the same way?
It's not like I cooked a person.
The Family Head's gaze lingered on the risotto for a long time.
The deep blue-green seaweed enveloped in cream. The abalone, glistening after being seared in butter.
It must be an unfamiliar combination. He might be thinking, 'Why would anyone put seaweed in a dish?'
A moment of silence passed, and then the Family Head spoke.
"...There are three bowls."
The Family Head muttered.
I nodded.
"Now that Fried's condition has stabilized, I thought it would be nice for the family to have a meal together."
"So you included a portion for Freya?"
"Yes. Mother (Formal), Family Head, and Freya. I thought it would be good for the three of you to have a meal."
I entrusted the bowls to the Head Butler and approached Mother.
"Please leave Fried to me and go have your meal, Mother (Formal)."
Mother started to rise from the bed, then paused.
"Yulian, what about you?"
"I am fine. I have to watch over Fried."
"..."
Mother's eyes wavered strangely.
Her lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, she just nodded.
"Alright, I understand. I'm counting on you, Yulian."
The Head Butler and the Head Maid brought a small table to the bedside.
It was a dining table prepared for the mother in childbirth who couldn't go down to the dining hall.
The Family Head sat beside Mother Linier, and Freya took the seat next to him.
I took a step back and went to the cradle's side.
Fried was still sleeping soundly.
I could see his small chest rising and falling regularly.
'Sleep well, little one.'
Leaning against the railing of the cradle, I watched the Nihilrit family eat.
After putting a spoonful in her mouth, Mother's expression changed.
"...This is delicious."
Freya's eyes shone as she agreed.
"I had some earlier, and it was really delicious. My tongue isn't numb because there's no pepper."
"You're right. It's the first time I've had something so soft. This is quite nice."
The Family Head also picked up his spoon.
His was the one specially loaded with innards.
One bite.
His expression stiffened for a moment before relaxing.
"It has an unusual flavor. Where did you learn this? This is..."
The Family Head trailed off.
Contextually, it seemed he was about to say 'a flavor unknown to nobles' but swallowed his words.
He must have been worried that it could come across as an insult, suggesting I was not acting like a noble.
But I didn't particularly care.
"On Tanner Street. There were no cooks there, so I had to learn myself."
"..."
The Family Head stopped his spoon and looked at me.
And then.
"Head Maid."
"Yes, Family Head."
"Bring one more bowl."
"?"
The Family Head jutted his chin toward the table.
"There's an empty seat, isn't there?"
"Ah, I am fine. Fried—"
I tried to refuse the Family Head's offer.
But the Family Head cut me off, not allowing me to finish.
"Fried is sleeping. Will he sleep better if you starve yourself? Or are you performing a fasting prayer?"
"That's not it, but..."
"If that's not the case, then that's settled. Bring it, Head Maid."
"As you wish, Family Head."
The Head Maid turned around.
I stared blankly at her retreating back.
