Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: He Was Quite the Player in His Younger Days
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'Good, the oven's ready.'
In modern restaurants, you'd never use a traditional wood-fired oven like this one, but I'd studied them enough that I wasn't too worried.
Today's menu was roast beef.
The beef sirloin cut was thick and uniform in shape. Plus, it had a perfect balance of fat and lean meat.
'That's why the failure rate is so low when you roast it.'
First things first: prep work.
You have to remove the membrane and tendons. No matter how delicious the meat is, if you bite into something tough after building up all that anticipation, it's infuriating.
It's recommended to marinate it in seasonings for about an hour before cooking, but time was short today, so I skipped it. I simply massaged it gently with salt and pepper.
"Mother, could I have some thread?"
"Thread?"
"Yes, thread."
Deborah gave me a puzzled look at the sudden request.
Well, it was still too early an era for ideas like this.
A simple but ingenious cooking technique. Like Columbus's egg.
Ideally, you'd use culinary twine for hygiene reasons, but in this world, that wasn't an option.
'Hmm.'
Wrapping it at regular intervals to hold the shape turned it into the perfect cylinder I'd hoped for.
"Ah, so this is what Joanna was talking about."
"Pardon?"
"She said you cook in a really unique way."
As Deborah tidied up the leftover thread, she nodded toward the meat.
Unique method, huh.
To people in this era, it probably seemed that way.
"It's to keep the meat's shape uniform with the thread."
"Oh ho."
"Otherwise, some parts might overcook while others stay underdone."
As I explained, I heated oil in a pan—just like when I made the beef stew—and seared the outside over high heat.
To create a crisp exterior and trigger the Maillard reaction.
Then I added butter, garlic, herbs, and the like to infuse it with aroma.
Sizzle!
This was the moment for another new technique.
I tilted the pan slightly, letting the butter-melted oil pool at the bottom, then spooned it up and repeatedly basted the meat.
That's right—basting. In French, arroser.
Basting infuses the meat deeply with the flavors of the butter and herbs, bringing out even more savoriness.
Sizzle, sizzle.
After this process, the crisp exterior becomes moist and tender. It compensates for the lack of fat in leaner sections. And thanks to the thread, even the parts with poorer heat conduction cook evenly.
"Mmm, smells amazing!"
From behind came Elfriede's sweet voice, tinged with excitement.
Imagining her face lighting up as she tasted my cooking brought a smile to my lips.
"Steak?"
Deborah, who had been watching intently from the side—probably her interest piqued as a housewife—asked the question.
"Sort of, but not quite."
Eaten like this, it would be steak. No problem there. It'd taste great, for sure.
But what I was making was roast beef, not steak.
'Perfect.'
Thanks to the pre-lit fire, the oven now held only embers and charcoal.
To truly call it a roast, you need to let the meat cook gently in the residual heat of those coals for a set time.
This roasting method ensures the interior cooks evenly, even the parts that were underdone. And it infuses a smoky charcoal aroma, deepening the flavor.
It's the most crucial step in making roast beef.
And.
'Can't forget the garnish.'
I piled the same vegetables from the beef stew into an oven-safe pan, then placed the meat on top.
Celery, carrots, onions. And, of course, the essential herbs.
Normally, I'd torch the surface for a bit of char, but without that option, it was a shame. Still, this alone would make for top-tier cuisine.
Especially once the smoking finished, delivering that rich smoky scent.
"Ugh... still a ways to go?"
As I slid the pan into the oven and turned, I spotted the silver-haired elf with an anxious expression.
She looked both adorable and a bit pitiful.
But cooking demands precision. To ensure it's fully cooked through, you must wait.
Only after pouring in your heart and enduring the agonizing wait does a true masterpiece emerge.
Of course, I couldn't just stand around idly while waiting.
Cooking is about efficiency.
I used this downtime to prepare the accompanying sauce.
'Oh, shallots?'
This world seemed Western enough that shallots were easy to come by.
Shallots are cousins to onions but more elongated and boat-shaped. They have a subtle garlic note, making them a great ingredient despite the flavor differences.
No wonder cooking YouTubers using shallots have been on the rise lately.
Speaking of which, fun fact: the green onions in our beloved pa-jeon are a cross between shallots and scallions.
Turns out they weren't so far from our tables after all.
'...Now I want pa-jeon.'
I'll make it next time. On a rainy day, naturally.
Back to the sauce: In the same pan used to sear the meat, I combined finely chopped shallots, butter, and various herbs, then deglazed with wine and reduced it.
You might wonder why herbs are in everything, but that's just how Western cuisine works.
Glug, glug, glug.
As I poured in the wine, Deborah commented.
"That's right, I heard about this too! You use wine in cooking. It amps up the umami, right?"
I nodded in agreement, poured the reduction into a suitable bowl, and let it cool.
Now, add honey, ground mustard seeds, and a touch of vinegar, mix, and done.
I added salt and pepper too, but no need to over-season.
The star today was the roast beef. The sauce was just a supporting player.
"Gotta wait a bit before taking it out?"
"Yes. The inside's still underdone."
Only then did Deborah return to her seat.
Right now, it wasn't just Elfriede—who was clutching her hands tightly and swallowing hard. Hans's reaction was pretty entertaining too.
He wasn't staring outright, but his fidgeting fingers betrayed how badly he wanted to dig in with a fork.
"Oh, that reminds me."
Elfriede suddenly piped up as if something had occurred to her.
"Joanna came up earlier, and it made me think. How's she doing? What about Marianne? They must be married by now, right?"
I knew Joanna, but who was Marianne?
I stood by the oven, ears perked, listening quietly. That's when it happened.
"You stay out of this."
Hans, who had been sitting like a ghost until now, started to say something at last—only for Deborah to shoot him a fierce glare.
...Huh?
I couldn't help but be baffled.
Hans, the picture-perfect patriarchal father figure, tucking tail at his wife's word.
'That's unexpected...'
At that moment, Deborah—newly minted head of the household—answered.
"Joanna married Colton, and Marianne married Herbert."
"I see. So Joanna's at the inn then?"
"Yes. She runs the kitchen there."
"And Marianne?"
"She's busy raising kids too."
Elfriede's eyes widened.
"Sons? Daughters?"
"Both. Joanna has just the one daughter."
"A daughter..."
The elf trailed off, deep in thought, then suddenly locked eyes with me.
"Damon, right? He takes after you, Hans. Gonna make a lot of girls cry. And he cooks too..."
"Ahem, Lady Elfriede...!"
Hans cut in hurriedly, looking flustered.
Oh? What's this.
His reaction was delicious.
'That suspicious response earlier, and panicking right now... Don't tell me?'
A messy drama unfolded in my mind instantly.
Hans, Deborah, Joanna, Marianne.
Marianne, Joanna, Deborah, Hans.
'So Deborah was the final winner...'
Aha.
I finally grasped the hidden implications and clapped inwardly.
In a small village like this, relationships were bound to get tangled—unlike the modern world overflowing with people.
Man, Hans was quite the player in his younger days?
'Ah, not the time.'
I'd gotten too absorbed in the story and nearly forgot the meat.
Judging it fully cooked, I pulled the pan from the oven.
Whoa, killer.
The perfectly roasted meat glistened. The garnishes, soaked in the rendered fat, were beautifully tender.
I said it again: killer.
"Is it done? Really done?!"
Scrape.
The elf, who had been giggling, shot up from her seat the instant I checked it, eyes wide.
"Sorry, not yet."
Hing.
A deflating whine, accompanied by drooping ears.
I smiled warmly at the sight and added,
"Just a little longer, for real."
The finishing touch remained.
Resting.
The technique of letting a thick cut rest in its own heat to finish cooking through. In simple terms, steaming it.
In this medieval era, where cooking methods weren't refined—
"Argh, seriously! It's not torture!"
"Damon, with the meat right there, I have no idea what you're doing."
—reactions like theirs were only natural.
Even the ever-stoic Hans's eyes were trembling. It was equal parts sorry and hilarious...
I chuckled once at their colorful expressions, then finally picked up the knife.
"Now it's truly done."
The moment I said that and began slicing—
Whoosh!
Hot steam billowed up, revealing tender, pale pink flesh in all its elegant glory.
"Dillon, that's it, right?"
"The family crest confirms it."
The two people standing side by side on the roadside exchanged words.
What they were watching was a black carriage passing leisurely down the street.
Its door bore an ornate gold frame and a crescent moon pointing upward.
The Vandimion family crest.
"Finally found her."
"We found her, but what now?"
Dillon had a point. The real challenge started here.
A mere commoner like Ailin couldn't just approach a high noble and expect a personal audience.
"......"
After a moment's thought, Ailin remembered something and asked,
"What did you say Rosalind's visit was for?"
"Uh... something about heading to the Adventurers' Guild, I think."
...That's it!
Ailin nodded and immediately started walking.
"Hey, Ail... hey! Where are you going?!"
Left alone in a blink, Dillon could only stare blankly at her receding figure.