Western-Style Pork Cutlet Is Truly Korean Cuisine. This Is Even Recorded in the Goguryeo Subakdo.
Western-Style Pork Cutlet Is Truly Korean Cuisine. This Is Even Recorded in the Goguryeo Subakdo.
Pog. Pog.
Plump, round Pogs were mammals a little bigger than the pigs of my old world, with a somewhat cuter look to them.
The same pink skin, upturned snout, and tightly curled tail — just with a slightly more adorable air.
How to put it.
Almost like they'd hopped straight out of a cartoon.
But above all, the Pog's real charm was the flavor of its meat.
Brighter crimson than pork, with a more varied distribution of fat, which made it richer and nuttier.
There was a saying about Pogs in this world, too.
—With a Pog, you throw nothing away but the guts.
Every part, from head to hoof, was delicious. People loved it.
Except the guts.
Unlike a pig's, Pog entrails were tougher than you'd expect and carried a rank stench. I knew how to handle that gamey taste properly, but it wasn't something you put on the menu at a newly opened place in the countryside.
'Back in the knight order, I did cook offal a few times to save on the food budget that had run over...'
The memories started bubbling up, warm and hazy — no, scratch that. Bullshit.
That was the era when the imperial knights ate like a plague of locusts and the imperial supply officer handed me a budget that was a goddamn dog's breakfast, which meant I was the only one who suffered.
It was a decision I'd made to feed knights on a shoestring. They had to have meat, there wasn't any money, and the one thing we had plenty of was time — so I'd snagged discarded Pog guts from the butcher and set about stripping out the stench until my own body reeked of Pog offal. Just imagining it again made me say:
"Fuck."
The curse slipped out on its own.
Ah, it's coming back now.
The memories of those absolutely shitty army — no — knight-order days.
How the hell did I last seven years in that place?
Maybe I should've kept my head down and played useless. If I'd done that, they probably wouldn't have bothered me.
No, all I had to do was never join the knight order in the first place.
Of all the times to get my past-life memories back, it had to be right during the knight investiture ceremony — What the hell is this?
Two days earlier.
If it had only come back two days earlier, I would've bolted before I ever became a knight...
The thing that snapped me out of my sudden ride on the nostalgia train was:
"Proprietor, are you all right?"
The viscount's knight, Heimer.
"Ah, my apologies. I sometimes get lost in thought while preparing dishes. Haha."
Still half in reverie, I checked the ingredients I'd set out on the counter.
Lined up on the prep surface: a bright crimson Pog loin, white flour, a single white Coco egg, finely dried breadcrumbs, pale cabbage, and an assortment of seasonings.
The dish I planned to serve my secret early guest, Heimer, was donkatsu.
Not Japanese-style tonkatsu, but Kyeongyang-style king donkatsu.
A cutlet thoroughly steeped in donkatsu sauce, shredded cabbage salad with a tart dressing, a scoop of rice, and a thin, mild soup alongside.
I meant to show him the true essence of Korean king donkatsu today.
Donkatsu obviously crossed over from Japan — a Japanese take on Western cuisine. These days, though, Kyeongyang-style donkatsu was effectively Korean food. It's been taste-reengineered in a distinctly Korean way, so for all intents and purposes, it's hansik. If you want to get technical, even donkatsu itself traces back to the Western cutlet.
The Goguryeo Subakdo says so.
Is it actually written there?
Beats me.
If it's been indoctrinated and reengineered in Korean, it's Korean food. Espresso crossed the Atlantic, got indoctrinated and reengineered by Americans, and turned into watery Americano, didn't it?
Just like Americano coffee — which even native Italians refuse to acknowledge — Kyeongyang donkatsu is K-Food in every way that matters.
Anyway, that's how it is.
I'd show him the taste of Korea's Kyeongyang donkatsu.
It was a somewhat heavy dish for breakfast, but the man in front of me was a viscount's knight. Knights are a breed that eats a lot, moves a lot, and turns themselves into brutal combat machines. King donkatsu for breakfast?
He wouldn't even register it.
At least, that was the case in the Imperial Princess's Knight Order where I'd worked.
"You're a knight, so starting the morning with a lot of meat won't be a problem, will it?"
"Ah, I've just come from dawn training, so it's fine. Frankly, a heavy meal is exactly what I need to make certain of my morning drills."
Knew it.
I've got a good eye.
"Understood."
"But what is the dish? The ingredients look quite different from what Lady Liana mentioned."
"Ah, today it's Kyeongyang-style donkatsu."
"Donkatsu? That's a name I've never heard."
"Yes, I'll be using this whole loin. A menu truly worthy of a knight."
I held up the thick loin, not yet pounded flat.
"Oho, I'm looking forward to it! You'll use the entire cut of meat?"
"Yes."
For an ordinary person, a third of this would be a full portion. But this was a knight. I couldn't be seen as cheap.
"For your information, this is a knight-exclusive special."
"Meaning it's not on the regular menu."
"Correct."
I took a mallet to the thick loin.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
Struck by the mana-wrapped mallet, the crimson loin resounded — thud! thud! — flattening and shaping itself.
Once the Pog loin had been worked into shape, I seasoned it with salt and pepper, then cracked a Coco egg into a clear glass bowl.
Coco.
The animal closest to a chicken in this world: a domesticated fowl now too heavy to fly. Its breast was more developed than a chicken's, yielding a cut of meat far from dry, which made it one of the Empire's most beloved ingredients.
The Coco egg, too, was almost identical to a chicken egg in texture and taste.
'The yolk's a bit stickier than I'd like for frying, honestly.'
But its deeper savory richness more than made up for it. Not a bad ingredient at all.
I beat the Coco egg and had the flour and breadcrumbs ready.
Everything for frying the donkatsu was set. Now for the cabbage.
Chop-chop-chop-chop!
For someone who'd grasped the ultimate secrets of the Cooking Sword Technique, channelling mana into a Chinese chef's knife was child's play.
As I sliced the cabbage into whisper-thin shreds, Heimer watched me with startled eyes.
"Seeing you prepare food up close like this — it feels rather different than I'd imagined."
"It's a bit of showmanship. Also a testament to how clean our kitchen is."
"Are you not concerned that household secrets and such might leak?"
He was genuinely worried. A knight through and through.
"It doesn't matter to me if someone copies it."
I smiled at Heimer.
"This isn't something you can pull off without a serious amount of diligence. Open a place with a clumsy imitation and you'll only bleed money."
"The confidence of a true master..."
The knight's eyes lit up.
From that point on, Heimer watched me cook with rapt attention. His gaze was a bit heavy, but it didn't interfere with my work.
All the prep was done.
A king donkatsu pounded thin with a mallet. The meat, many times larger than a standard cutlet, was dredged in flour, dipped in the beaten Coco egg, then pressed firmly into breadcrumbs.
I checked the temperature of the yellow cooking oil I'd had heating since I started on the meat.
Personally, I found 170 degrees to be the ideal frying temperature for donkatsu.
'The magic thermometer I ordered still needs some time to arrive...'
For now, I had to rely on instinct. Precision was nice, but a small margin of error didn't hurt.
I could gauge it by the batter's reaction.
After checking the oil, I slipped the prepared cutlet straight in.
Tsssssssk!
The sound of boiling oil pleasantly tickled my ears.
This was the moment I loved most.
Lowering a battered piece of meat into boiling oil.
The sound of the oil, the sight of the bubbling droplets — that was my private joy in cooking.
While the meat fried, I set a pan on the remaining Flare Range burner.
The sauce would be made while the donkatsu cooked.
In Korea, you'd just buy a commercial sauce and do a little finishing work, but that wasn't possible here.
I had to source every ingredient myself, make everything from scratch. At least it was better than seven years ago.
I kept the heat low and dropped butter onto the pan.
Once it melted, I poured in about half a cup of flour.
The flour mingled with the butter, forming a pale roux. Making a roux was absolutely fundamental to Western cooking. It was an essential component of donkatsu sauce, and if you couldn't get it right, you'd be better off giving up and buying a jar from the store.
Does using a roux make it Western food?
No, for heaven's sake. If using a Western sauce made every dish Western, then a fried egg with ketchup would count, too.
It's fusion. Fusion K-Food.
When the roux turned the color of scorched rice, I added soy sauce, sugar, ketchup, and finally a splash of vinegar. Then a proper amount of water.
Last came the secret weapon.
What is it?
A trade secret of the house. A trade secret every Korean knows.
The magic white powder that starts with M.
I can't even tell you how much I suffered trying to find this flavor in this world.
Sizzle.
Beside me, the donkatsu was frying in oil; in front of me, the donkatsu sauce was reducing to just the right consistency.
"The sauce just needs to reduce a little more."
I lifted out the thoroughly fried king donkatsu. Oil crackled on its surface, bubbling and popping. The sight alone made your mouth water. I shook off the excess oil over the frying rack I'd ordered from the capital.
"The size is staggering."
"This is for a knight visiting a Knight Restaurant. You'll be able to eat all of it yourself, yes?"
At my question, Heimer laughed sheepishly.
"Ha, haha, I didn't realize it would be quite that large."
"You must finish all of it."
He averted his eyes. Didn't realize it would be that large?
Are you even a knight?
You're satisfied with something this size?
If Commander Luke had heard what you just said, you'd be doing remedial training right now, pal.
— Complaining there's too much food in front of you? A lack of guts! Remedial training for you!
The new recruits invariably got dragged off like that. And the knights who were dragged off that way could fill the entire parade ground.
"You. Will. Finish. All. Of. It."
Leaving food is unforgivable.
A cook knight's pride won't permit it.
"Of course! I'll eat every bite!"
Meeting my eyes, Heimer nodded vigorously.
"You'll be able to finish it. If.You're.A.Knight."
While I waited for the oil to drain properly, I whipped together a soup that was indispensable to the Kyeongyang donkatsu experience.
A very smooth soup made by blending mashed potatoes and milk.
Since this world lacked a blender, I always had to do it by hand, either before leaving for the day or right after arriving. Thanks to the guest who turned up before opening, I ended up using the soup I'd prepared yesterday and set aside.
'I'd made that for myself...'
The soup had been sitting in the refrigerator; I rapidly heated the chilled soup using the mana in my body.
A Knight-Range, not a microwave. I didn't use it unless I was truly in a rush.
It burned a lot of mana.
The cold, sticky soup loosened and smoothed out, steam curling upward. I scattered a few shakes of pepper on top.
The soup that came with Kyeongyang donkatsu was always a little shabby by design, and that was its charm. That junk-food flavor. The kind of taste you keep coming back to, no matter how much you eat.
I set the little bowl of soup on a tray, then placed a big, flat white dish alongside it with shredded lettuce and a scoop of freshly cooked rice.
The thoroughly drained donkatsu went onto the dish.
Finally, before ladling the sauce on top, I used the tongs to brush gently across the batter.
Crrrrch.
That tiny, delicate sound — the crisp batter brushing against the tongs. The sound that, just by hearing it, told you exactly how crunchy the coating was.
A final ritual to confirm the batter had fried perfectly.
"Guh, that sounds delicious."
It sounded delicious just from the noise alone.
It was one of those sounds only people in the know recognized. The clamor of freshly fried donkatsu — truly, properly fried donkatsu — the batter itself crying out, I'm delicious.
A taste that engaged all five senses.
Sight, hearing, taste, smell — even the perfect 100-point feel of the batter at your fingertips.
And finally, I poured the finished sauce over it.
Steam rose softly from the sauce blanketing the donkatsu.
I set a knife, fork, and spoon beside the dish and handed it to Heimer.
"Here is the Knight Restaurant's special menu: Kyeongyang-style king donkatsu."
"It's like a cutlet — you know, fried meat."
His voice was thick with disappointment.
He'd come after hearing Liana's rapturous praise of the bulbaek, and what was set before him now was a cutlet — something you could find anywhere in this world.
It was a perfectly natural reaction from someone who didn't know what Kyeongyang donkatsu was.
In this world, breaded, fried meat — a cutlet — did exist. But the quality was on a different plane.
For the record, even in the knight order, I'd only made donkatsu once. It required too many individual steps, and those bastards ate so much the budget couldn't handle it.
— That donkatsu... could you not make it just for me?
Commander Luke, who loved fairness above all else, had pulled me aside and asked me that himself. That should tell you everything.
"The structure is similar, but this is a different menu from a cutlet."
"I'm to cut it with this and eat?"
"Yes. Cut it into a suitable size yourself."
After gauging my expression for a moment, Heimer picked up his fork and knife.
Scrunch!
The sound of the knife splitting through the still-crisp batter and the meat's grain rang out.
He speared the edge of the donkatsu — where the seasoning hadn't yet fully soaked in — with his fork and brought it to his mouth.
"Hmm?"
Heimer's eyes went round as saucers. His gaze flew to me.
Well?
Good, isn't it?
That's K-Food Kyeongyang donkatsu, you punk.