That White, Warm, Fluffy, Chewy Thing That Melts in Your Mouth
That White, Warm, Fluffy, Chewy Thing That Melts in Your Mouth
The smell of freshly made tofu rose with the steam, rich and toasty.
It was the same scent that drifted from the tofu shops in the early-morning market, warm and nutty. The kind of smell that, on a winter dawn, would make you glance down and find yourself holding a white plastic bag full of tofu without ever deciding to buy one.
I caught myself sniffing the air.
Even the smell tastes good.
Tofu.
One of those ingredients Korean cooking simply can't exist without. Some dishes turned on whether you added it. Others were perfect all on their own.
Grilled, stewed, in a hot pot, as jeon, fried, braised — the forms were endless.
Sundubu, yeondubu, modubu, chodang dubu made with seawater instead of bittern, jat dubu studded with pine nuts.
An ingredient with real personality.
If you ignored how much work it took to make, anyway.
"This is tofu? Looks a little different from what I've seen before. The stuff I knew was squarer. Firmer."
"Yes. This is sundubu. Have you never encountered it, Kobi?"
"It's not the same thing?"
"The texture's very different. Would you like to try some?"
Since I was serving doenjang-jjigae anyway, I'd planned a few sides that would let the tofu itself shine.
Sundubu and dubu kimchi would do.
Freshly made tofu was far more charming eaten as-is than dressed up with seasonings.
Besides, dubu jeongol and sundubu-jjigae were too heavy to serve as sides alongside doenjang-jjigae.
'I can serve those another time.'
I ladled a bowl of sundubu and handed it to him with a spoon.
"You eat it like this?"
"One moment."
I drizzled a little soy sauce, crushed some sesame seeds, and scattered finely chopped spring onion over the top.
The soy sauce spread through the soft, cloudy sundubu, tinging the crevices a pale brown. Kobi's eyes widened at the glossy surface.
"Mix it in."
"All right."
While I portioned out the finished sundubu, Kobi's expression shifted the moment the soy-seasoned tofu hit his mouth.
"Whoa. Whoa! What is this? This is a new flavor. Heh-heh. Wow... it just melts on the tongue, doesn't it? Is it because of the soy sauce? The taste is so deep and appealing."
"Press that firmly enough and you get the tofu you've seen before."
"Ahhh... I thought it tasted different from the tofu I'd eaten."
"It's the core ingredient in tonight's doenjang-jjigae."
Kobi, however, didn't seem to be listening anymore.
He'd buried his nose in the bowl and was slurping down the sundubu, spoon going tap-tap-tap as he practically drank it.
While he did that, I loaded more curds into a cloth-lined press and applied pressure. The bean-water drained away and the mass slowly took shape.
The moment Kobi saw the finished modubu, he let out a cry of admiration.
"It really did turn white and firm! How do you put it — springy, I suppose?"
The springy modubu was still puffing out steam.
Hot tofu.
Honestly, if you had fresh-steamed tofu on its own, you didn't strictly need anything else.
Add soy sauce and a generous chop of spring onion, mix it into rice, and you had a perfectly satisfying meal.
That dish was, by its very existence, a rice thief.
Oh? A rice-pilfering little hussy, is it?
I was prepared to call it an outrageously indecent creature.
"Depending on how much bittern you use and how much water you press out, the possibilities range from yeondubu to sundubu. A broad family."
"Oho... so why didn't you make this last time?"
"Last time I stir-fried gizzards as a drinking snack."
"You called it stir-fried ddongjip."
"Kobi, why so uncouth? Ddongjip, really."
"Hey!"
Ignoring Kobi's indignation, I retrieved a block of the freshly steamed tofu.
"Care to sample the modubu as well? A taste test is essential before serving, naturally."
"...W-well, I am curious."
Even after eating all that sundubu, he was hungry — or, more accurately, once he'd had a taste he simply couldn't help himself.
I sliced the fresh-steamed tofu into reasonable pieces and set them on the cutting board.
The blocks quivered, springy, holding their shape while the steam rose from them.
My knife sank in smoothly.
I cut the white, angular tofu into neat portions and arranged them on a plate, then served the soy sauce in a small dish. As with the sundubu, I crushed sesame seeds and chopped spring onion over the sauce.
If the flavor turned out a touch too mild, dipping a little deeper would fix it. No problem there.
At the sight of a taste he already knew, Kobi swallowed audibly.
"Go on."
"Smells lovely. You eat this one straight, too? No further cooking?"
"You already had some. For fresh-made tofu, this is best."
I picked up my chopsticks.
I used them to bisect a piece about half the size of my palm. The springy tofu parted cleanly and flopped down onto the plate with a soft splat.
Like a block of tofu that had collapsed, exhausted from its own creation. I gripped it with my chopsticks to stand it back up, dipped it into the soy sauce, and took a bite.
Softer than jelly yet still springy on the first contact, and then it dissolved gently on my tongue.
Warm, cozy — a different kind of comfort from sagol-guk.
"Delicious."
I could taste the concentrated nuttiness of the soybean.
One bite, and I knew it had come out right.
"Ah, it's melting. Melting."
Kobi, who'd been stealing glances at me, picked up his own chopsticks and took a piece.
"Whoa!"
He shouted, startled by a texture entirely distinct from the sundubu.
"It's way firmer than the soft one."
"That's because I pressed the sundubu to force the water out. The intensity of flavor is similar, but the mouthfeel is different."
"Incredible... producing such different textures from the same ingredient. The culinary world really is profound."
Watching Kobi eat with such wonder, I felt a single pang of regret.
Not that I should have stir-fried the kimchi ahead of time for the dubu kimchi — I could do that on the spot with the kimchi I already had.
My real regret was different.
'I'm craving makgeolli.'
Makgeolli.
Fresh tofu and a bowl of makgeolli — the perfect match.
But there was no makgeolli.
'There'll be a chance down the road.'
I'd made a few attempts, but no matter what I tried I could never reproduce the taste of home.
Liquor wasn't my specialty.
Even the soju — I'd just handed the principle over to Golden Wagon and left it at that.
I emptied my plate of tofu, swallowed my disappointment, and rolled up my sleeves.
"Right — now that you've tasted it, let's get back to work."
"Can't it wait a little? I'm exhausted."
"Don't you want to eat a proper tofu dish?"
Freshly motivated, Kobi sprang to his feet.
"I want to eat it fast! What do we start with?"
"First, I'll loosen the doenjang and stir-fry the kimchi."
Now I had to finish the preparations for the meal Camilla had asked for.
Starting with the bokkeum kimchi.
Today, I was going to give her a tofu showcase.
***
Camilla returned to Lucas's Knight Restaurant with Kobi, who had gone to meet her at the viscount's castle.
"It's ready?"
"It is. Lucas has completed the meal, giving his very best for you, my lady."
"Hmm, is that so?"
The corners of Camilla's mouth crept upward.
A meal after so long.
No — a bowl of doenjang-jjigae after so long.
She couldn't remember how long she'd held herself back, wanting this. When Lucas offered to make her something else, she'd crushed the rising desire and demanded doenjang-jjigae.
She'd even arranged for the soybeans herself. That was how serious she was.
"I'm already looking forward to this."
She glanced at Viscount Britten and his wife, who were accompanying her.
"Are you joining us as well?"
"Lady Camilla, you are a guest in our territory. We intend to attend you as fully as we can."
Silently, she licked her lips.
More mouths at the table meant less food for her.
'It'll be fine.'
She knew how much food Lucas prepared. Two extra mouths weren't going to overwhelm him.
"Very well. This is your territory, Viscount. Lead the way."
Camilla arrived at the Knight Restaurant with the viscount. The moment she walked through the entrance, the rich, nutty smell made her feel the corners of her mouth twitching upward of their own accord.
Smiles kept leaking out.
Beneath that toasted aroma, she could pick up the familiar scent of doenjang-jjigae.
"He's prepared it properly."
The smell alone told her Lucas had delivered exactly what she'd asked for — a perfect meal. As if possessed by the pleasant fragrance, she stepped slowly inside.
The door opened, and the fermented depth of doenjang hit her nose even more intensely than it had near the entrance.
A deeply familiar scent.
"Mmm..."
"This smell..."
The viscount and his wife, on the other hand, made no effort to hide their bewilderment. It was the reaction of people who had never once encountered this earthy, pungent aroma.
For citizens of the Empire, the smell of doenjang could only be strange.
The kimchi that had been quietly circulating among the nobility ever since the princess ate it a few years back was on a whole different level from this ingredient. Doenjang — the thing sought out only by the truest of true gourmets.
Once, Camilla had reacted much the same way.
"That's the smell of doenjang as it boils. It seems you haven't had the chance to try it yet, Viscount."
Camilla smiled, drawing a flush of superiority from her chest.
She knew something they didn't.
Heh-heh. Fools.
They had no idea how delicious this was.
Judging food by its smell alone was an act of ignorance. People were the same. Those who made all their decisions based on appearance or first impressions constantly let talent slip through their fingers.
"Lucas, that smells wonderful."
"You've arrived, Lady Camilla."
"Right on time, I see. I'm pleased."
"This way, please."
"All right."
She followed Lucas's guidance, tracking the source of the smell.
A great earthenware pot of boiling doenjang-jjigae.
The pale brown broth was bubbling vigorously. White tofu, green vegetables, and mushrooms all asserted their presence, each in its place. But no matter where she looked, she couldn't see the meat she'd come to recognize.
The brisket that lent doenjang-jjigae its deep, meaty savor wasn't there.
"Am I seeing this correctly? I'm certain I requested doenjang-jjigae with brisket."
"The chadol doenjang-jjigae is simmering inside."
"Then why is this..."
"The tofu came out exceptionally well today. I prepared this separately so you could appreciate its nutty flavor first."
Now that she looked, there were separate dishes of white tofu arranged beside the jjigae.
Pure white tofu and the now-familiar red stir-fried kimchi sat together on a single plate in harmony. Next to it, soft, cloudy tofu floated in its own broth, and beside all of them sat a dish of dark soy sauce.
"The tofu came out especially well?"
"Yes."
"But I prefer it with meat."
Camilla grumbled even as she took her seat. Her mouth complained, but her body — already conditioned by Lucas's cooking — was moving on instinct.
That was thanks to her absolute certainty that Lucas's food could never be bad.
If anyone else had ignored her orders and done whatever they liked, she would never have forgiven them. She'd have fired them on the spot or made sure they never worked with the Golden Wagon Merchant Group again.
Kobi might get away with it. Barely.
Camilla already knew what doenjang-jjigae tasted like. This was a reunion with a dish whose first impression hadn't been half bad.
'He did say the chadol version is cooking too.'
Still, her absolute favorite was obviously chadol doenjang-jjigae. She'd explicitly asked him to prepare it.
It would be a lie to say she wasn't disappointed.
'If I don't like it, I'll use the excuse that he ignored my instructions and take him by force.'
Now that she had a pretext for dragging him back with her, Camilla's heart was at ease.
She cleared her throat and settled into her seat.
Facing Lucas's cooking after so long made her heart swell.
"Ahem."
She couldn't hide the girlish expression that kept surfacing.
"As I mentioned, the tofu came out exceptionally well today, so I've added some sides."
"What's this one? I've never seen it before."
"Sundubu. Unpressed tofu, prized above all for its texture — much softer than other varieties. Scoop some out with a spoon, mix it with the soy sauce, and you'll taste the harmony between the tofu's nuttiness and the saltiness of the sauce."
Lucas pointed at the pillowy tofu suspended in its clear broth.
"And this is tofu with kimchi?"
"Yes, a side dish — dubu kimchi. It's made with stir-fried kimchi and tofu. You simply place the kimchi on top of the tofu and eat them together."
The table was filled with tofu in all its soft, yielding forms.
It wasn't that she'd never eaten tofu. She'd had it several times in doenjang-jjigae, and once when it had appeared among the lunch options at the Imperial Princess's Knight Order.
It hadn't been to her taste.
Nothing but mush. No flavor at all. It wasn't inedible, but her first thought had always been: why eat this when there are so many better things?
'But if Lucas is this confident about it, it really might be delicious.'
"Please, try it."
Camilla picked up a chopstick-load of dubu kimchi — the dish Lucas was so eagerly recommending.
While Lucas was busy admiring her chopstick skills — now more proficient than any Korean's — she placed the white tofu and red kimchi straight into her mouth.
"Mmm."
The tofu crumbled softly; the stir-fried kimchi crunched between her teeth.
"Oh?"
The flavor, so different from ordinary kimchi, made Camilla's eyes go wide. But what left an even deeper impression was something else.
"Wh-what is this?"
"Good, isn't it?"
"This isn't the same tofu I usually eat."
It melted in her mouth, releasing a concentrated nuttiness as it dissolved.
The tofu she'd eaten before was on an entirely different level of flavor.
What was this?
What on earth was it?
How could tofu made from the same soybeans taste this good?
Was it thanks to the high-grade ingredients she'd procured?
"This is so good!"
She picked up her chopsticks again, wrapped more stir-fried kimchi around a piece of tofu, and ate it.
"Mmmm~~~."
This was the pure flavor of the ingredient itself. The nuttiness of the soybean, condensed and concentrated inside the tofu.
The stir-fried kimchi amplified that pure, nutty character.
The kimchi, fried in oil, brought a sharp sourness and a prick of heat that layered even more dimensions onto the tofu's richness.
How to put it — like a saintess with an open mind wielding holy power, teamed up with a quick-witted, vastly capable mage? A flawless party composition.
If she'd been a hero assembling a party, she'd have recruited the two of them on the spot.
'Feels like something's missing, though...'
It was so delicious even on its own that she couldn't quite put her finger on what.
If Lucas had heard her analogy, he'd have told her: the hero — the meat — is missing.
"I-it's good."
As expected of Lucas.
She had no choice but to admit it.
She scrapped every plan she'd made to find a flaw, to seize an excuse for dragging him back with her.
How could she grab hold of him when there was nothing to grab?
"W-well, shall we see about the doenjang-jjigae?"
"Lady Camilla."
"Yes?"
"There's still sundubu left."
"...."
"You'll want to cleanse your palate gently after the stronger flavors of the kimchi."
The soft, cloud-like sundubu caught the lamplight and sparkled.
Like a cluster of white gemstones.