Carne Pizzaiola

"Mary. Could you grab some steaks from the attendants for me?"

"Do you need them raw?"

"No. Rare."

"How many should I bring?"

"Uh, enough for the three of us, plus Gordon's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠share?"

"Understood."

Mary took a large tray and left the cart. It was a shame for those who would now be deprived of the chance to feast on the last of the meat.

But matching Gordon's appetite left them no other choice.

In the meantime Karem had loaded a sizable pot with tomatoes, a wooden cask of tomato paste, salted pork fat, garlic, onions, and bell peppers, then dumped the lot on Gordon.

Taking only his cooking tools, Karem headed for the campfire where the table had been set.

"What, tomato stew? Seems a bit light on ingredients for that."

"It's not stew. You said you wanted steak and broth, remember?"

"Yeah. But look at the ingredients."

"True enough, but you don't mind a bright, tangy sauce that eats like a light broth, do you?"

Gordon shrugged in agreement.

At the menu requester's word, Karem set the emptied pot over the fire.

In went the salted pork fat.

Sizzle-sizzle-sizzle—

While the fat rendered and a savory aroma rose, Karem drew his favorite kitchen knife—Winter's Lie—and began prepping the rest.

He finely minced the garlic and onions, then roughly chopped the tomatoes.

"Tch. I've brought the steaks from the attendants."

"Thanks. Why the long face, though?"

"I just wonder whether the Tower is being kept properly clean. The servants and maids dispatched from the main castle are rather..."

Karem regarded her with a look that said he had expected exactly that.

Until now she had insisted the Tower was her domain and managed it alone. She had even threatened Narke for doing a little cleaning while she was away with Catherine in Fungusby; of course she would freeze out any staff sent from the main castle.

"By that logic you should have taken it up with Lady Atanitas."

"Even so, leaving the escort of a contractor who is going to meet so exalted a personage solely to Junior Karem feels rather improper..."

"You hate this, you hate that. Quit the nonsense and stir these onions."

What was the point of fretting over something already settled?

Karem shoved a wooden spatula into Mary's hand.

Shaaah—

He tipped the minced onions into the hot fat.

White steam billowed up with a crisp hiss.

Even Mary's grumpy expression could not hold out against the heat of the pot. One wrong move and the onions would scorch, so she focused on the frying.

Sizzle-sizzle-sizzle—

"Are you planning to caramelize them?"

"No. That would take far too long."

"Then what?"

"Hold on. Let's see... Mm. As always, cooking is all about the heat."

It had been only moments since the onions went in, yet the mound that had once piled high in the hot oil had already shed its moisture, sunk beneath the fat, and was frying to a golden brown under Mary's ladle.

"This is how we'll do it."

In went the chopped tomatoes and garlic.

He pried open the wooden cask and scooped two generous spoonfuls of the tomato paste that looked, at a glance, like gochujang.

The raw scent lasted only a moment. The tomatoes broke down in the hot fat, releasing their juices so the paste could melt in.

A bright, mouthwatering aroma began to spread.

"You forgot the bell peppers and the meat."

"Ah, their turn is still a ways off."

"Weren't we making stew?"

"Not stew. By the way, some wine would be nice. Did we not bring any earlier? Gordon? Hey, where'd this guy go now?"

Gordon, who had been right beside them only moments ago, had vanished the instant Karem focused on cooking, leaving only footprints leading into the woods.

"What a pain."

With no choice, Karem went himself to the corner of the cart, retrieved the bottle of wine he had stashed behind the barrel of secret doenjang, and poured the whole thing into the pot.

Bubble-bubble—

The pot, which had been boiling so fiercely it was almost reducing itself dry under the intense heat, calmed the moment the cold wine hit it.

"And you still claim this isn't stew?"

"Nope. Closer to a sauce than a stew."

"With this much liquid?"

"We've got a certain someone missing right now. Don't you think we'll need at least this much?"

Wasn't that exactly why he had commandeered so many steaks?

Karem pointed casually at the mountain of steaks heaped on the plate.

Mary, who had been wondering whether so much sauce was really necessary, could not argue once she saw the steaks piled nearly as high as Karem's torso—allowing for a little exaggeration.

In truth she had never needed to look at the steaks at all. As the one who almost single-handedly supported the mages of the Mage's Tower, Mary knew perfectly well how dramatically the food stores had swollen after Gordon's appearance.

With a Sword Master's appetite forcing them to bring two supply carts instead of one, running short on sauce was a real risk.

More work made Mary happy.

Though her blank face made it hard to tell.

The only one fretting was Karem.

"Hey, Karem. Guess what I brought back."

Gordon, blissfully unaware of (and uninterested in) Karem's mood, pulled a pure-white mushroom from a leather pouch—wait, a mushroom? That looked like a button mushroom.

"Caught that distinctive earthy scent, so I went looking and found a whole patch nearby."

"Perfect timing. We were short on chunky bits."

"Right? I tried them before—these go great with tomato sauce."

The small pouch was stuffed full of button mushrooms.

Karem wiped away the dirt and moss with a cloth, then he and Mary began slicing them carefully so the shapes would not fall apart.

"Is it mealtime already? Hmm? Tomato stew?"

Drawn by the aroma, Catherine, the leader of the party who had been resting inside the carriage, opened the door and stepped out.

"For the last time, it's not tomato stew. Everyone keeps saying the same thing."

"Well, if it isn't, it isn't. Hm?"

Catherine peered curiously at the cutting board.

"Button mushrooms? We didn't have any mushrooms on the cart."

"That guy over there foraged them."

"What, Gordon? You've never been through this area before."

"He says he found them by scent alone."

The cleaned mushrooms went into the pot, which had begun to bubble again. Bell peppers, cut into long, thick strips, were scattered in and stirred through.

Then they waited for the sauce to reduce once more.

Even with an entire bottle of wine, a full pouch of mushrooms, and all the moisture from the peppers, the campfire's heat was beyond imagination.

The sauce did not take long to thicken.

From there the process was simple.

Karem ladled a generous amount of sauce into a large, wide pan, nestled the rare steaks into it without gaps, and set the pan over a free spot on the fire.

The cold air and the pan heated in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moments; the sauce began to bubble vigorously.

"Once the sauce in the pan reduces, we're done."

"So that's why you had the steaks brought rare."

"Beef gets tough if you cook it too long."

"Well, a proper well-done is a high-level technique only a handful of people in Winterhome can pull off."

There was a common misconception: that well-done steak was inevitably tough and dry.

It was pure misunderstanding.

Karem had tasted a true well-done steak only once in his previous life.

Every bit of common sense he had held—that beef must be eaten rare or medium—had been shattered to pieces.

A tenderness so complete it was hard to believe the center had been cooked through, yet not a drop of juice lost, still moist.

Of course it was firmer than rare or medium. But nowhere near the rubbery chew most people imagined.

And he understood why the prejudice against well-done existed. The first well-done steaks people encountered were usually blasted straight through until the juices fled and the fibers turned to leather.

"Still, if you're going this far, wouldn't it be simpler just to cube the meat and make stew?"

"Someone asked for steak with a bright, tangy broth."

"Hmm. That is a tempting combination—if it's possible."

"So I made it."

Judging by feel that the steaks had gone from rare to medium, Karem lifted the pan at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once and carefully plated the food into the waiting dishes.

A bed of sauce first. One piece for Catherine's plate.

Two pieces for Gordon's.

Setting the pan aside, Karem introduced the dish to them both.

"Beef Pizzaiola. Enjoy."

"Hmm."

Catherine and Gordon looked down at the plates.

They still had no idea what this had to do with pizza beyond the sauce, yet the powerful aroma of tomato sauce rising from the dishes was joined by the unique smoky note of peppers charred over the open fire and the savory depth of the mushrooms.

The familiar was always a little frightening—though in truth neither of them had been eating tomatoes for even a full year.

Plenty of time, of course, to fall under the spell of tomato umami.

The well-browned meat and fat of the steak stood out vividly against the red sauce, catching the eye.

While Catherine savored the dish with her gaze, Gordon—unable to endure his empty stomach any longer—had already picked up knife and fork when the smoky fragrance tickling his nose left him puzzled.

"What's this unique smell?"

"Unique smell?"

"Yeah. A subtle smoky note. Doesn't seem like anything was added directly."

"Ah, that would be the peppers charring over the campfire."

"Just from being grilled over fire you get smoke flavor?"

Either way, the distinctive smokiness only made his already-ravenous stomach roar louder.

Gordon quickly cut into the meat to quiet the silent clamor in his gut.

The steak was fairly thick, yet having been seared once and then simmered again, it parted under the knife as easily as butter.

He speared a large chunk of steak on his fork.

Juice and fat dripped steadily from the rosy-pink center into the plate.

It looked ready to go straight into his mouth, but Gordon decided to wait a moment; he lowered the fork and used the knife to scrape up sauce, peppers, and mushrooms, piling them on top.

The juicy pink cross-section was dyed a vivid red by the tomato sauce; the appetizing deep-brown surface vanished beneath mushrooms and peppers.

But what Gordon was curious about was this side of things.

There had to be a reason it had been finished in sauce.

Besides, the tart aroma only sharpened his appetite further.

Just then Mary offered Catherine a smaller version of the same steak piece Gordon had on his fork.

In perfect sync, Gordon popped his own pizzaiola bite into his mouth.

"Mm."

The moment the tart yet deep, rich tomato sauce hit his tongue, a gentle sweetness and abundant fruit aroma arrived first.

The sweetness of a great quantity of fried onions—a mellow sweetness no simple fruit juice, sugar, or honey could imitate—married the tomato sauce as if they had always been one.

Then the fruit note.

It could only have come from the wine.

Yet that familiar finish—

"You put wine in this, right?"

"Yes. Wine belongs in a sauce meant to go with meat."

"There's a familiar scent. Don't tell me—"

Karem made a show of lifting the green wine bottle that had been sitting in the corner.

It was an object Gordon could not help but recognize.

Of course it was—he had stashed it there himself.

"Damn it! I hid that bottle in a corner of the cart! How the hell did you find it!?"

"You know who's in charge of the supplies, right?"

"Mary, of course. Damn it!"

"Anyway, as long as it tastes good, what's the problem?"

As much as it rankled, Gordon could not deny it.

He chewed the steak with bottled-up indignation.

Yet before his teeth even fully met, the meat—cooked two different ways—tore apart without resistance, just as it had sliced like butter.

Only then did Gordon realize: this would shred under a spoon.

And then the deep, characteristic meatiness of beef exploded.

The smaller the piece became, the more juice it released.

The sweet flavor and aroma of the meat mingled with the sauce, each lifting the other's savor to a higher plane.

The button mushrooms in the sauce especially stood out.

Even after dumping in an entire pouch, the mushrooms themselves had been almost unnoticeable.

Gordon only truly felt their presence after he chewed.

Once the rich meatiness had swept through, the mushrooms that had been hiding behind tomato and pepper flooded in with their deep, earthy fragrance.

Concentrated tomato umami and onion sweetness.

Smoky peppers and the belated presence of the mushrooms.

Even the beef's flavor, any hint of gaminess restrained by the wine's fruit notes.

There was not even a sound of chewing.

Before he knew it, Gordon had long since swallowed that first mouthful of meat and sauce.

A faint beef savor still clung stubbornly to his tongue, only for a gentle garlic note to sweep the palate clean.

Then the peppers' refreshing bitterness washed away the last traces of tomato umami and faint oiliness.

"It's so damn good I'll let it slide."

"Come on, you're a baron now. I'll buy you another bottle later."

"What? You? Do you even know how much that costs?"

"Money just keeps piling up on my end—it's actually a worry."

Ah. Then no problem.

Having rinsed his mouth clean of wine-related grudges, Gordon moved his knife again.

He speared half the remaining steak in one go and lifted it.

It looked less like chewing and more like a snake swallowing its prey whole.

Watching the spectacle right in front of her, Catherine scolded him.

"Savor it a little. I've always wondered—can you even taste anything when you eat like that?"

"I am tasting it thoroughly while I chew, thank you."

"You're a noble now. No thought of conducting yourself with matching dignity?"

"Mm, I'll leave that to future me."

For now—gulp.

Gordon swallowed the remaining half in a single bite.

Catherine shook her head in disapproval and turned her leisurely attention to the pizzaiola piece Mary was offering her.

Karem, however, could not afford to be leisurely.

"Oh for heaven's sake. I've only got two hands! Chew slowly and thoroughly!"

"Gulp. Just hold a pan in each hand."

"Ugh, you're driving me crazy!"

Truly, there was no reward in feeding them.

Yet contrary to his feelings, Karem's body was already fetching another pan from the cart.

Mealtime was still a long way from over.

A picture drawn by ChatGPT.