Charcoal Grilled Skewers (1)
Tonight's dish was charcoal grilled skewers — the plan was to thread marinated meat onto skewers with chunks of leek and sell them.
Not only would the charcoal smoke infuse the meat with its distinctive aroma, but the sauce and spices would suppress the gamey odor as much as possible.
Frankly, if I was going to this much trouble, it might've been easier to just buy expensive meat that didn't stink in the first place. But that's the thing about hard work — the more of it you put in, the more profit it yields.
Making delicious food with quality ingredients matters, sure. But in the restaurant business, what matters even more is how deliciously you can cook at the best value for money.
I trimmed the leeks I'd be threading onto the skewers and paused for a moment to catch my breath. I had no idea how well they'd sell, but I'd prepared a fairly generous batch to be safe.
And for the most important part — pricing — I went to find Ciel.
“Ciel, you got a minute?”
“Oh, Mr. Hans! Are you all set?”
“Not yet — I've still got plenty to do.”
Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I asked her.
“I need to set the price for the meat we're selling tonight. Roughly how much did we spend on ingredients today?”
Ciel rested a hand on her chin and thought for a moment before answering.
“Hmm... if we combine everything you bought today — the meat, the vegetables, and the spices — it comes to about 1,200 copper.”
My sense of copper, this world's currency, was still shaky, but I'd dig into that later. For now I settled for a rough feel for the numbers and pressed on.
“Do you know how much grilled skewers usually go for out on the street?”
The real question was what the market considered a fair price. People care about portion size too, but if the price is off, they won't open their wallets. If anything, it was safer to fix the price first and let the portion size follow.
“Hmm... about 50 copper, I'd say? Most vendors sell at around that much.”
Good. Using the size of the skewers I'd seen at street stalls as my baseline, I calculated how many portions our ingredients would make, then worked out the profit margin if we sold at a comparable price.
Strictly speaking, I should have factored in more than just the ingredient cost, but for now I considered the raw materials alone.
If we're using cheap meat, we can drop the price a bit and sell at 40 copper. At roughly 100 skewers sold...
The calculated cost ratio came out to around thirty percent. Even by modern standards, that was a very profitable business. The corners of my mouth curled up all on their own.
“...Mr. Hans, your smile is kind of creepy...”
Whoops. I hastily straightened my face. Apparently I'd been wearing a greedy little smirk without realizing it, all thanks to thoughts of money.
“Anyway, Ciel — could you come over here and give me a hand for a bit?”
“Of course! What would you like me to do?”
“The marinated meat needs to go on the skewers now.”
I led Ciel to the pantry, fished out the marinated meat, and showed her how to thread it onto a skewer.
“Like this — you tuck pieces of leek in between, then add the cut pieces of meat.”
“...Okay! That's not hard at all. But is there a reason for adding the leeks? Is it to cut down on how much meat we use?”
“Not at all. Leeks turn sweet when they're cooked, and they pair beautifully with meat. You'll understand once you try one later.”
They cut through the greasiness of rich meat, and they brought that unmistakable leek aroma besides. Meat and leek were a legendary pairing even in the world I came from — a classic, time-honored combination.
As I explained, I ran my eyes over the cuts in the meat, checking how well the spices and fruit wine had soaked in. Yep. This would do just fine.
Ciel worked diligently, threading meat and leek onto the skewers, then looked up at me as if seeking approval.
“Um... like this?”
“Perfect, Ciel! Now just do that another hundred times!”
“A... a hundred?”
“There's not much time left before dinner service, so I'm counting on you!”
“Um... we really can sell all hundred of them, right? Not that threading them is hard or anything... I'm just genuinely wondering...”
“Of course we can! Just trust me.”
Her expression darkened for a moment — probably my imagination, right? What, don't you want to make money?
With the skewering left in Ciel's capable hands, I picked up the bowl of marinade — the leftover cheap fruit wine.
“Are you throwing that away? It seems like a waste.”
“Huh? Why would I throw this out? Of course I'm using it.”
“Oh? What are you going to use it for?”
“I'm making the sauce with it.”
Dig into the earth and see if money — no, sauce — comes pouring out. This wasn't some high-end restaurant that dumped a dozen ingredients into a pot just to simmer one stock. Every last drop had to be squeezed for all it was worth.
With that thought, I brought my nose to the bowl of liquid that would become the sauce and took a whiff. The sweet fragrance of the fruit wine mingled with the scent of the spices.
This'll do nicely.
I fished out the bits of loose floating debris, poured all the liquid into a pot, cranked up the Flame Stone burner, and began to let it simmer slowly.
Before long it started to bubble, and I stirred with a spatula, reducing it little by little.
How many minutes had passed? As the water and alcohol cooked off, the once-watery liquid grew thicker and thicker, and the aroma grew deeper and richer.
Now...!
When the liquid had visibly dwindled, I dropped in a knob of butter and stirred it in. Then a spoonful of honey for sweetness.
I'd gotten scolded for using sugar before, but it turned out honey wasn't all that expensive in this world. I suppose beekeeping was easier than cultivating sugarcane. From now on, honey was my sweetener of choice.
Finally I added just a pinch of salt, gave it one last stir, then dipped the tip of my spatula into the sauce for a taste.
From the reddish-brown sauce rose a sweetness with real weight and body behind it. The gentle acidity of the fruit wine, its mellow sweetness, the perfume of the spices — everything blended in beautiful harmony.
“That's it...!”
Now, all the preparations were complete.
By the time the sun had fully set and the sky had faded from orange to deep indigo, I carried the sauce toward the front of the shop.
“Mr. Hans...! There you are. We set everything up like you asked — what should we do now?”
“...I've already got the charcoal lit, like you said.”
Ciel and Bran had finished every last preparation exactly as I'd requested.
Excellent. Now for the moment of truth. I fixed my gaze on the brazier glowing with its faint red light.
You might think grilling meat is as simple as throwing it on the fire, but skewers over charcoal are trickier than they look.
The fat dripping off the meat can send flames flaring up and burn it to a crisp, and getting the meat perfectly cooked — moist all the way through — over that kind of fire is genuinely difficult.
On top of that, we were using a sauce, so the surface was all too likely to char completely.
Grilling these to perfection with such makeshift equipment would be a challenge for anyone short of a true professional.
A professional? You mean me?
Grilling everything from yakitori to barbecue to perfection was nothing to me. I'd once earned glowing praise from every single judge in the second preliminary round of a cooking competition, in fact.
After gauging the right distance from the charcoal, I picked up a skewer and carefully laid it over the coals.
With a sizzle, fat dripped onto the charcoal and white smoke billowed up. That smoke seeped into the meat, laying on that unmistakable charcoal-kissed aroma.
I grilled with focus, checked that the surface had cooked through, and brushed on the sauce I'd made earlier. It sizzled in the heat of the coals, and the delicious smell spread in every direction in an instant.
Drawn by the seductive smell of the meat, Ciel and Bran came sniffing over.
“...Good lord, that smells incredible.”
After a few more flips, the surface of the skewers had turned a deep, glossy brown. The leeks charred faintly at the edges and gave off their sweetness, while the meat glistened, brimming with juices.
“Hans, would it be the end of the world if we tried one first?”
“We haven't even started selling yet, and you're already thinking about eating?”
“W-well, fair point...”
Bran, who'd been looking so hopeful, deflated like a punctured balloon. The sight was so comical that I burst out laughing.
“Kidding. Here, have a taste. I was planning to add a little more charcoal flavor later, but it should be plenty delicious as is.”
Ciel and Bran took the skewer, amicably split a bite between them — and reacted as if struck by lightning.
“This is really that Charging Boar meat?”
“No way... Mr. Hans, are you an alchemist?”
An alchemist, huh. Quite the compliment.
Cooking has its own formulas. From how you prep the ingredients to temperature, pairings, and countless other factors, wildly different flavors emerge from the same food. In the sense of triggering specific reactions to draw out flavor, you could call it a kind of alchemy.
“It's so, so delicious! With this, it's sure to be a success!”
Ciel cried out, eyes sparkling. Instead of answering, I just grinned and turned back to the brazier. Time to start welcoming our real customers.
“Alright, the taste test is over — let's get ready for actual business. Mr. Bran, I need you by the brazier helping me, and Ciel, you handle the customers.”
“You got it!”
“Leave it to me!”
Once the magic lanterns lit up along the street and adventurers began drifting out in search of dinner, we officially opened for business.
“Charcoal grilled skewers, just 40 copper apiece! Made with our special sauce and secret recipe — taste guaranteed! Come and try one!”
For someone I'd taken for shy, Ciel turned out to be surprisingly good at hawking. At the sound of her voice, and following the aroma rising from the brazier, people began to take notice one by one.
“Hey, what are you selling here? That smell is a work of art.”
A big, burly bald man passing by came over, nostrils flaring. Ciel quickly stepped forward with a warm smile.
“Charcoal grilled skewers, sir! 40 copper each.”
“Oh yeah? Give me one, then.”
I handed the man a perfectly grilled skewer. He took the steaming hot skewer, gave it one sniff, and — heedless of the heat — took a huge bite.
He chewed with his eyes closed, savoring it for a moment... and then his eyes suddenly flew wide open and he began to groan.
“Mmmnnghhh! This taste!”
“What on earth is this flavor! It's impossibly juicy — the more you chew, the more the juices just burst out...!”
Passersby started to murmur among themselves. Quite the reaction from the man.
He savored it for a while longer, then said, eyes gleaming:
“Hey, I'll take five more.”
“Wh... five of them?”
“Take my money quick and hand over the meat.”
Ciel's eyes went round as saucers. Watching his reaction, passersby began to gather one after another.
I had a feeling tonight's dinner rush was going to be something else entirely.