The Bean-Curd Revolution and the Leather Artisan
The interior of Castile in 1628 was overflowing with wheat. Naturally, every granary was stuffed to the brim with the grain, while secondary crops like barley and beans were unceremoniously kicked out of the warehouses.
Although beans were a staple in Olla Podrida, the soul food of the Spanish, people preferred a stew with a higher meat-to-bean ratio whenever possible. The human aversion to beans was absolute—after all, Xiang Yu of the Chu-Han Contention would rather retreat his army than eat bean rice.
Even the people of Africa left beans behind, proving that unless one was truly starving to death, nobody wanted to eat them. But not me. I can state with certainty: I love beans. I love bean rice, roasted beans, and especially tofu.
Tofu is not some "heretical" food like mint chocolate or Hawaiian pizza! It is a high-class delicacy!
"I cannot stand to see beans being wasted!"
With beans being so abundant that they were being fed to livestock, I felt a personal affront. I decided to create a new dish to enlighten these "taste-blind" Spanish villagers who didn't know the true value of a bean.
My hometown in Gangwon Province is nationally famous for Chodang Tofu. Because we produce such high-quality beans, our tofu is second to none. However, trying to make tofu here in 17th-century Spain presented several hurdles.
"Marco! Did you succeed today?"
"Your Excellency. I tried exactly as you instructed, but it is not easy."
I might not know the exact recipe for Chodang Tofu, but I knew the basics: grinding beans and adding gan-su (bittern). Gan-su is the bitter liquid that drains from aged salt, but no matter how we tried, the mixture wouldn't coagulate properly. It was a failure after failure.
"Ugh... I give up!"
I eventually abandoned the project. But it seemed my head chef hadn't.
Marco Pietro Bianco, the Marquis's head chef, was an Italian. In this era, having an Italian head chef was the ultimate status symbol for Spanish nobles seeking elegant and refined banquets. He had once been the most sought-after chef in Valladolid, the former capital.
After the Great Flood of 1626, he had been cast aside by his former noble house. He was wandering in a foreign land, homeless and penniless, when he finally picked up a ladle again—only to boil oat porridge, potatoes, and beans.
Since becoming the Marquis's chef, Marco had lived a life intoxicated by the "inspiration" bestowed upon him by his master.
In this age, even the King could hardly avoid the ash found in bread. Bakers of this time repeated the grueling process of lighting a fire directly in the oven, removing the embers, and then baking the bread. The Marquis had created a new oven that separated the combustion chamber from the baking space. This oven, optimized for mass and continuous production, fired up four times a day to supply the city with bread and biscuits. It was a local landmark found only in the Warehouse City.
The day the Marquis succeeded in creating "ash-free bread" and the pinnacle of that bread, the Soboro, the sheer admiration he showed had filled the chef's heart with pride.
That was why, even though the Marquis had told him to stop, Marco didn't want to give up on the potential of "cheese made from beans."
"We must remove the raw, grassy smell, Gordon."
Marco said to Gordon, the sous-chef who had come from that island nation in the north.
They crushed the fava beans, removed the skins, and ground them in a small mill to make bean milk. Adding gan-su to this milk created a texture similar to cheese curds. Straining it through fine linen finished the process the Marquis wanted. The Marquis had remarked, "This isn't tofu, it's more like a jelly," but to Marco, it showed immense potential.
"What if we try using vinegar instead of the bitter water?"
At those words, Marco recalled his days making Ricotta cheese in Italy. Adding acidity to coagulate milk was a traditional Italian method.
"Let's try it. Dilute the vinegar with water and add it very slowly, little by little."
As they added the vinegar, the structure firmed up. Tasting the curds, however, the raw bean smell remained. To put it in terms of Italian pride, it tasted like something only the "commoners" would eat. It was far from fit for the Marquis's table.
"Gordon, bring the salt and pepper."
Marco seasoned the still-soft bean curds with salt and pepper. Then, he and Gordon placed a heavy stone on top to compress it. After some time, they removed the stone to reveal a round, disc-shaped bean cheese.
Sizzle—
Marco sliced it thinly and pan-fried it in lard. As the salt and pepper-seasoned bean cheese met the pork fat, it released an intoxicating aroma.
"Gordon, try it."
Gordon took a bite of the carefully seared piece and let out an exclamation.
"Amazing."
Marco nodded at Gordon's reaction, tasted the fried bean cheese himself, and said:
"We shall serve this at the Marquis's table today. Prepare it."
"Yes, Head Chef."
That day, the Marquis tasted a slice of the "bean cheese" served for dessert and gave the reaction Marco had been hoping for.
"Wait! This is actually delicious!? It's different from the flavors I know, but... it suits the people of this land much better. Truly magnificent. As expected of you, Marco!"
"I only serve with the utmost loyalty, Your Excellency."
Marco felt a profound sense of accomplishment as he watched the Marquis beam with joy.
The "bean cheese," or Queso de habas, which the Marquis loved, spread rapidly among the nobles who idolized him. Pan-frying this cheese in olive oil on meatless days became the latest trend among the upper class in Valladolid.
And naturally, it became a trend among the servants who had to make it as well.
Unlike the original version, which was heavily salted and peppered and compressed for a deep flavor, the version that spread to the masses was fresher and milder.
The sight of vendors or inns selling ladles of this lightly set, vinegar-coagulated bean milk became a local delicacy enjoyed by everyone during festivals and market days—not just in the Warehouse City, but throughout the Marquis's settlements in Valladolid.
"Wait, this is made of beans?"
"Isn't it delicious?"
Merchants and travelers from afar called this local specialty Boneda de Valladolid—"The Softness of Valladolid."
I don't raise sheep. Instead, I raise many horses, cows, and goats, and the amount of goat hide produced every year was staggering. The Valladolid region lacked the water and wood necessary for proper tanning, but because so many livestock were being slaughtered, we were hauling in oak and walnut bark to tan the hides.
"The tanning process for the leather is nearing completion. I would appreciate your opinion on how best to process it."
At my words, Advisor Spinola spoke up.
"Why not just sell it to the Genoese merchants? They want it as well."
"That won't do. Tanned leather barely covers the shipping costs. We must increase its value."
I rejected the idea and scanned the room, locking eyes with one man.
"Your Excellency. I have compiled a list of common products made from goat hide."
I nodded at Bartolomé, the head of the livestock division.
"Indeed! Let's hear it."
"First, goat hide is less durable than the hide of larger animals, so gloves are more popular than shoes. It is also currently fashionable among scholars to use goat hide for the covers of high-quality books."
"The most certain demand is for processing them into bags for transporting wine and water. Those will sell as fast as we can make them. People in Córdoba use them to make harnesses, saddles, and bridles, but that is not common practice here in Castile."
"So, what makes the most money?"
I honestly didn't know, so I asked, just like "that bald guy" would. After saying it, I felt annoyed, realizing I was starting to think like the Duke of Benavente.
"The Muslim-style Marroquin from Córdoba is the best. In particular, goat hide dyed in vivid red or yellow is a luxury item coveted by nobles across Europe; it would undoubtedly be the most profitable..."
Bartolomé hesitated before finally adding:
"We lack the technology and the environment for that. I heard from a merchant from the south that it requires an immense amount of water, Your Excellency."
"So it's difficult. Then, couldn't we make sturdy military boots out of goat hide instead?"
The easiest way to earn silver coins in this Spain was to conspire with Olivares and secure military contracts. Of course, it had devolved into a national competition of "who can fleece the most," turning into a festival of forced sales and silver recovery.
Since there were many former Tercio soldiers in my settlement, the stories I heard were truly brutal. They spoke of supply officers who provided rotten meat and forced soldiers to eat it until it was gone, or officers who claimed old, tattered clothes were new, only to strip the soldiers and force them to run in their underwear, or soldiers who "relocated" all the property of a village during a march because supplies were delayed—things that would fit right into a horror story were happening as a matter of course.
For the sake of my settlers, I was putting in a genuine effort to produce "decent goods for soldiers to eat and use."
"Goat hide is fine for farmers' shoes, but military boots are difficult. Valladolid has always had a very weak leather industry. If there were a place in Castile with a strong leather industry, it would be Salamanca, but as you know, the Duke of Alba is very hostile toward us."
"Because he lives off the transit fees of the sheep flocks."
The sheep of the Mesta were exempt from transit fees. But where there is a law above, there is a countermeasure below. The Duke of Alba would block the roads where the sheep had to pass and collect "water fees." It wasn't my fault the sheep flocks were dwindling, but as they decreased, he blamed me and turned hostile.
"Your Excellency. I would like to recommend someone."
It was Osorio, the Inspector General and security chief of the Warehouse City—the "Colonel Bear." When that imposing man opened his mouth, everyone focused on his words.
"First, the man I am about to introduce is not a Morisco. However, he is a man who lost much in the wake of the expulsion decree."
"Miguel Almonacid de Córdoba. He was my subordinate when I was in the military. His parents and relatives were swept up in the expulsion, but he was protected because he was in the Tercio. He is a devout Christian who must eat pork every day, so his faith is beyond question."
"Why are you introducing him to me, Inspector General Osorio?"
Leonel asked sharply, and the Inspector General twitched his massive muscles as he replied:
"His family were the finest leather artisans in Córdoba for generations, and he handled all the leather goods for the regiment I led. And I can bring him here."
An artisan! A technician! I asked with a fluttering heart:
"Ah, does he live nearby?"
"No. He is currently across the sea, in the city built by the Moriscos... in 'Salé,' along with his family."
I was wondering where that was, when Advisor Spinola jumped to his feet.
"No! That is impossible, Your Excellency! It is too dangerous!"
I was startled by the Advisor's panicked tone.
"What is it? Why are you so alarmed?"
He took a long moment to choose his words before speaking:
"Salé. That city... has declared the Empire its 'enemy'."
"Tell me more."
"There was a wealthy Morisco settlement called Hornachos. It was a land renowned for its unique leatherwork, ironworking, silk, and irrigation farming, but they were all expelled in an instant by the Morisco expulsion decree. What they created, swearing revenge, is the pirate city of Salé."
"Oh, my..."
I felt a chill run down my spine as I faced the deep, dark karma of the Empire.
Author's Note
Thank you for your support, SilverWalker!
This is definitely not the person who is the master of Gordon the Squirrel.
A little bit of content has been added to the end of the previous chapter!