What Woke Me from My Hangover Was the Warm Sunlight and My Mother's Bean Sprout Soup
What Woke Me from My Hangover Was the Warm Sunlight and My Mother's Bean Sprout Soup
Dwarves.
They were called the race of master artisans, a fearless and warlike people—but there was something even more famous about them: they could outdrink any other species alive.
Legend had it that even dragons thought twice before challenging a dwarf to a drinking contest.
The story about a single dwarf draining ten oak barrels of beer in one sitting wasn't just a tall tale people told for laughs.
It was supposed to be true.
"Uuurghh."
Blackbeard, the self-proclaimed owner of a colossal liver, was still sprawled in the staff break room, groaning in misery.
He'd passed out cold after half a glass of soju. I couldn't exactly haul him anywhere, so I'd just dumped him in the break room and gone home for the night.
"...He's still asleep."
Andrea scratched her stomach and stared down at the slumbering Blackbeard, then sighed and headed back to the kitchen.
"Ugh. This is exactly why dwarves have no class."
She really couldn't stand him.
I asked Bldi, who'd just finished her night watch.
"Bldi, anything happen overnight?"
"Nooo... nothing much, aside from some extremely loud snoring."
"Good work."
"Hehe."
I reached over and tousled the hair of the girl who'd spent the whole night on alert just in case.
"Want me to make seonji haejangguk? It's been a while."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"I'd l-like that. Fuh-hehe."
I was prepping ingredients when Blackbeard staggered out of the break room.
"Grrrgh... a fine morning to you. I fear I may have overindulged yesterday. Drinking straight through until my memory gave out. Hohoho. I must have been in excellent spirits."
"Do you remember what happened yesterday?"
"Absolutely. As I recall, I heroically put away thirty bottles all by myself."
What in the world was this dwarf talking about.
"Strong as I am against drink, thirty bottles of something that fierce does seem to have pushed my limits."
"Thirty bottles, you said?"
"Indeed! You witnessed it yourself, Sir Lucas! You saw me keep refilling that clear glass with that clear liquor—a truly dwarven display!"
To save Blackbeard from himself after he'd nearly keeled over from half a glass of soju, I'd filled his glass with water instead of liquor and handed it back.
— Kahaha! Yuhr too kind! Uurp! Thish fine pour you're givin' me—! Sh'a fine drink!
His tongue had been so twisted I couldn't make sense of a word, but apparently he'd assumed what I was pouring him was more alcohol, not water.
Every time he emptied the glass he'd ask for more water, so I'd figured his stomach was bothering him. Maybe that wasn't it.
"That was water, actually."
"Puhaha! You do have a sense of humor, sir. I distinctly tasted liquor with every sip—how could you call it water? It was a truly delicious drink. Hahaha— uurp!"
Blackbeard let out a hearty laugh, then dry-heaved.
"It really was water. And you kept drinking water after that."
"...You mean that."
"Yes."
"Impossible! I am a dwarf with a liver of iron! The mightiest drunkard among all my comrades!"
I already knew that was all bluster.
Self-delusion, most likely.
After Blackbeard had passed out, I'd asked Andrea.
— Are all dwarves like that?
— No. They're famous for drinking well. They really do put it away. Everyone in the elf forest knows the story about the dwarven envoy who drained our entire grain-liquor stores.
Which meant this particular dwarf was uniquely terrible with alcohol.
"Grrugh... I suppose it's because it's been so long. This hangover is fierce. Any chance you still have flour on hand? I'll need something to settle this."
According to Andrea, dwarves never suffered hangovers no matter how much they drank.
— He's not some kind of fake dwarf, is he?
— No, he's real. He's got that distinctively rank dwarven body odor.
Andrea's face had twisted in revulsion at the very thought.
"I'll make you what we eat back home to cure a hangover. Have a seat in the dining room."
"You've got something like that? Hoho. I'll gladly wait."
Blackbeard chuckled and headed out to the lobby.
"You're really going to cook for him? You could just tell him to get lost."
"He's still a customer. If he's going to be building the gate here, he'll be dropping by for a while. Might as well treat him well."
"Feh. No need. I've never once heard of a dwarf properly repaying a kindness."
While she was still grumbling—
"Good morning!"
The knights had arrived for work.
"Why are you all so late?!"
Andrea announced she was taking them out for drills and dragged the lot of them away.
Looked like she was planning to take her dwarf-related frustrations out on them.
'Good luck surviving that.'
I watched their wretched backs as they were hauled off. Still, if Andrea hadn't dragged them out, I'd have been working them over in the kitchen, so—same result either way.
For the hangover-cure breakfast, I prepared bean sprout soup.
Back in my previous life, whenever I'd been out drinking with friends until dawn, I'd wake up to a splitting headache and waves of sour nausea—the classic brutal hangover.
Anyone who's lived through their early twenties has been there. Someone's staggering home blackout drunk from a bar near campus, someone else is fresh off their first company dinner at their new job, having been pressured into drinking twice what they can handle.
And every time, there was that one smell that would pull you out of the misery.
— Aigoo, you're not my son, you're a menace. Why do you come crawling home at this hour stinking of booze!
The sharp sting of my mother's palm on my back, her voice cold with reproach.
— Eat it before it gets cold.
The cool, spicy bean sprout soup she would set in front of me.
That's what I'd be making to cure Blackbeard's hangover today.
Splash!
I rinsed the bean sprouts in cold water.
Clean bean sprouts, plus thinly sliced green onion and hot peppers—all prepped in advance.
I set a pot of water on the fire and waited for it to boil.
"Hahht! Hahhhht!"
The knights' full-throated shouts drifted in from outside.
"Hamilton! Is that all you've got? Put some force into it! Heimer! You're too slow!"
Andrea's voice cut through the morning air, scolding them.
It was a crisp, brisk sound to wake the early morning.
I listened to these now-familiar dawn sounds.
'Guess I'm really used to this life now.'
Back when I served in the Imperial Princess's knight order, I used to hear these sounds every morning.
— A rewarding day's work now complete!
I'd prepare their breakfast while listening to the knights' marching songs mixed with hollered cadences as they did their morning runs.
Listening to those military chants, so much like something out of the stories I'd read in my past life, had been oddly pleasant.
— Hah! Hahp!
Of course, any joy I felt about not having to train myself usually evaporated once I was stuck cooking several hundred portions single-handedly.
"It's all just memories now."
Some other cook was probably sweating over that same stove in my place these days. Not my problem anymore.
Bubble bubble.
Into the now-boiling water went the bean sprouts, soy sauce, minced garlic, and MSG.
Bean sprout soup was a tricky dish to coax flavor out of with mana alone, since you couldn't slice the bean sprouts with mana-enhanced knife work—they had to go in whole.
'Which is why it needs extra MSG.'
I added a touch more MSG than I'd use for other dishes to fill in that missing depth of savory flavor.
Personally, I liked tossing in a bit of sour kimchi to brighten it up, but not everyone was a kimchi enthusiast. For someone trying it for the first time, I'd serve the kimchi on the side and let them choose.
I stirred the soup, lowered the heat to medium, and let it simmer just until the bean sprouts softened to the right point. Not too long.
Overcook them and they'd lose all their crunch, collapsing into sad, squishy strings. That always depressed me.
Once it was ready, I scattered the sliced green onions and hot peppers on top.
The clear golden broth came alive with fresh green.
I ladled the soup into a large bowl and set a smaller bowl of freshly steamed rice beside it.
For the final touch, I plated the side dishes: kimchi, stir-fried fish cakes, and pan-fried coco eggs.
Bean sprout soup and coco eggs—both famously good for a hangover.
The ultimate home-style breakfast, the kind that made you feel human again the morning after drinking. Done.
Clack.
Blackbeard, who'd been groaning through a truly vile hangover, lit up the moment I set the food in front of him.
"That smells wonderful. And this is good for a hangover, you say?"
"Yes, it's bean sprout soup. Nothing better for it."
"Oho."
Blackbeard's beard quivered with interest.
"My body doesn't normally feel hangovers, but I can hardly ignore such sincere effort. I'll eat it gratefully. Although—what is the price?"
"This one's free."
"Free?"
"It's not a restaurant dish. This was something my mother used to make for me the morning after I'd been drinking."
"Ah-ha... a dish with memories attached to it."
In truth, this was also diplomacy. Blackbeard was a dwarf of considerable skill—earning his goodwill now could pay off down the line.
Get on a dwarf's good side, and good things might follow. A finely crafted blade, for instance. Or maybe a dwarf who falls in love with the restaurant's interior and volunteers to renovate. Or, more practically, help with some of the inventions Rimeon was developing.
Give and take, right?
Spoon in hand, Blackbeard studied the steaming bean sprout soup and spoke.
"Honestly, when I saw nothing but vegetables for side dishes, I wondered if you'd mistaken me for an elf. A vegetarian meal for a dwarf—it's about as absurd as a meat-eating elf. Hahaha!"
"Not all elves are vegetarians!"
Andrea burst in from outside, shouting.
"Ah, the elephant elf. Are you angered because I insulted your kind? I understand the sentiment, but I am in no condition to fight you right n—uurp!"
"Wh-what? What did you just... El-elephant?"
"A creature that eats nothing but greens cannot reasonably possess arms that thick. They're far thicker than a normal elf's—closer to a human woman warrior's. Do you truly believe an elf can naturally achieve that girth?"
"I'm not!"
Andrea shouted at Blackbeard, then turned her glare on me.
"I'm n-not an elephant!"
"I didn't say anything."
"I'm telling you, I'm not!"
She spun around and marched back outside.
"Hraaaaah!!!"
Through the window, I could see Andrea throwing herself into training with terrifying intensity.
Looked like Blackbeard had won that round by TKO.
"That one's an elf who eats meat."
"Oho, is that so? An elf with taste, then. That explains it. You don't get that kind of build otherwise. Well, I shall eat."
Blackbeard dipped his spoon into the bean sprout soup and took a sip of the broth.
His eyes flew open.
"Oho! How peculiar! The broth is hot and spicy—warms the body—and yet there's this strange, cooling sensation..."
"It quenches the thirst from the hangover and helps flush out toxins."
"Is that it? Hahaha! This is truly remarkable."
He picked up a bean sprout with his chopsticks this time.
Crunch!
"Hmnn. I can't say I'm overly fond of vegetables, but this is rather decent."
"I've prepared some rice as well—mix it into the soup. Best to eat it together with the seasoned side dishes."
"Ah, rice. I've had it a few times in the capital. Quality varies wildly depending on the cook, so..."
He scooped up a spoonful of rice soaked in soup and ate it.
"Delicious. Hoho. This..."
He looked back and forth between the soup and me, eyes widening.
"The way it just sweeps the discomfort right out of my stomach—this is a treasure. Hohoho!"
Laughing heartily, he buried his face in the bowl and kept eating.
The fried coco eggs and side dishes vanished in moments.
His stomach had to be churning from the hangover, but he shoved the food down anyway. Sometimes forcing it down like that was exactly what it took to settle your insides.
"Phew, I believe I might live after all. I truly thought I was dying. To think a drink exists that could cause such suffering to a dwarf of my colossal liver... such a fiercely potent brew, and so much of it. Hohoho."
He stroked his beard, sounding genuinely relieved.
And then.
BAM!
"Hey! You alcohol-grade dwarf!"
Andrea flung the door open and stormed back inside.
Despite all that furious training, she still hadn't burned off her anger. She stood there fuming, glaring daggers at Blackbeard.
Was that a glint of tears in her eyes, or was I imagining things?
"...What did you call me?"
"I called you an alcohol-trash dwarf. Why?"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"You insulted me first!"
"Si-Sir Lucas! Say something to this elf! Whatever the quarrel..."
"Boss! It's true, isn't it?! Where in the entire world is there a dwarf who passes out after half a glass of soju!"
"Ha-half a glass! I clearly..."
"We're not even open yet, so you're not even a customer! Just take the hit! Boss!"
That elephant elf remark must have really cut deep.
I'd never seen her this furious.
'Well, now that she's let it all out, there's no salvaging this.'
I swallowed a sigh and addressed Blackbeard.
"I wasn't going to bring it up, but—yes, you did collapse after half a glass."
"...."
"I wanted to protect your honor, but at this point hiding it isn't really an option."
"...."
"I've always heard dwarves don't get hangovers. You can be honest."
"Gruugh. So you knew."
Blackbeard let out a long sigh.
"If you already knew, there's little point in hiding it. I am indeed a dwarf who cannot hold his drink. I was ostracized for it even among my own people. I came here hoping to pretend, just once, that I was strong. I apologize for the trouble. Ahem."
He scratched his cheek, embarrassed, and looked away.
I could see the weight of a lifetime of failing at something his whole race was supposed to excel at settling across his face.
"To be truthful, I don't remember yesterday. The last thing I recall is you handing me that clear liquid, again and again. I honestly didn't even remember how I came to sleep here and wake up in this building..."
There he was: a dwarf, stripped of pride, diminished by his inability to do what everyone else took for granted.
"You wouldn't want to associate with a dwarf who can't even drink. That's why I hid it. I'm sorry. I've caused you nothing but trouble—I won't darken your door again."
A thought flickered through my mind.
If I offered him a chance to change that sorry self-image, wouldn't he grab it?
"If you want to look like a heavy drinker to others, there's a good way to do it."
"What do you mean?"
"Make non-alcoholic beer."
"...."
"Teach me the carbonation injection method, and I'll make you a non-alcoholic beer that's indistinguishable from the real thing."
It was common knowledge that dwarven beer held a far stronger, richer carbonation than anything humans could brew.
If I could use that technique to inject artificial carbonation—
'I could make soda, too.'