Vegetable Tempura for the Forced Vegetarian (2)
Ianbert watched Karem's actions with a dubious look.
Honestly speaking, he was a little disappointed.
Karem's name had become rather well-known even in Kingsland, piled high with every sort of rumor—this was the man who had created sauces and dishes that did not even exist in Serbianus, the place said to possess the most advanced food culture in all of Europa. And no wonder: the idea that a great chef had emerged from that Iceland made half of the wealthy and the nobility snort with laughter, while the rest simply doubted. Of course those doubts evaporated as quickly as morning mist under the sun. Mayonnaise, meringue, and whipped cream had overturned the very definitions of sauces and desserts that had previously existed in the Seophon Kingdom. On top of that, a whole rainbow of fresh and unique new recipes and crops finally forced the last holdouts to let go of their skepticism. One after another, things that could easily have become the secret techniques of a single house were scattered about without any compensation at all. And the rediscovered and improved crops were already beginning to stir every region of the Seophon Kingdom, little by little. Outside of Iceland they still remained the province of the wealthy, but it was obvious that before long the ripples would reach ordinary commoners as well. The names had been so inconsistent that people had assumed there must be at least two different chefs involved…
In any case, word of him had spread through every region of the kingdom, and he was called the most famous chef in Iceland, so Ianbert had come with high expectations.
And yet—
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap— swish-swish— chop-chop-chop-chop-chop—
Vegetables, of all things.
Ianbert frowned inside his helmet. Those expectations had been thoroughly betrayed by the sight of Karem prepping vegetables, making batter, and hauling out a pot.
To the nobility of Europa, vegetables were the food of elves, farmers, the poor, and barbarians. If a thief was caught, his hand might be cut off; if someone stole vegetables, no one except the parties involved so much as batted an eye. Only those twisted, pretentious long-eared bastards of Berseingeto would start a war over something as paltry as vegetables… There were even nobles who had never once put a vegetable in their mouths in their entire lives. And those very vegetables were being cooked in a duke's castle? By the chef who was currently the most talked-about man around?
Of course, it was not as though nobles never ate vegetables at all. But that was only after they had been cooked—fried, sautéed, or boiled in butter, meat juices, and oil, or pickled in vinegar and salt. And even then, plenty of nobles still refused them.
Bubble-bubble-bubble—
"…Well, if you cook them like this I suppose they're edible."
"You sound disappointed."
"Isn't that only natural? I mean, I already half-expected it once I heard he couldn't touch meat, but this is somehow even more disappointing. I never imagined he'd fry them like fried chicken, though."
"Fried chicken? That already spread to other regions in a single season? No, of course it would."
Catherine spoke the words and understood them herself in the same breath.
"As long as you have oil…"
"Anyway, I was looking forward to seeing what this newly famous chef would make, but I suppose I expected too much."
"You're the one who said he could only eat vegetables and fruit."
"Calling me 'you' like that is a bit rude, don't you think?"
While they talked, Karem began lifting the finished vegetable fritters out of the oil.
"Is it done now?"
"No. It still needs a little longer."
"It looks finished to me—why wait more?"
Wasn't that the same as taking a steak that was already cooked and putting it back on the fire?
"I'm going to let them cool for a moment and then fry them a second time."
The purpose was to drive out the moisture that had seeped from the heated ingredients and softened the batter; a second frying made the coating even crispier. Of course, frying something already cooked meant one had to be careful not to burn it—but a chef always had to be careful in the kitchen, so that changed nothing.
"Frying, huh. I've seen so much of it on the tables in Kingsland that I'm sick of the sight, but I never imagined anyone would fry vegetables."
"Sick of the sight? Has frying become fashionable in Kingsland or something?"
"Is that even a question!"
Ianbert waved a hand with a thoroughly fed-up air and let out a sigh so deep it was audible even through the helmet.
"Deep-frying until it's completely submerged in oil… a Seophon person—a noble, no less—couldn't possibly refuse that."
"It's a luxurious cooking method that uses oil by the bucketful. Of course a trend would follow."
"It'll be even worse next year. I can already hear the sound of oil prices climbing."
Catherine did not even need to recall the countless fried dishes Karem had made. Just thinking of fried chicken was enough.
While the two of them talked, Karem finished lifting the fritters. Tiny droplets of oil that had not yet fallen still sizzled on the surface.
"One moment."
Of course they could be eaten just like this. But they could also be made even better. The method was simple.
Shhhrrrk. Toss! Toss! Toss!
Having fished out every last fritter, Karem dumped them all into a large bowl, sprinkled them with salt, and shook the bowl itself so that everything was evenly coated.
"There. All done."
"Wow. I am truly not looking forward to this."
"Actually, they're at their absolute best while they're still piping hot."
The thought that that was only common sense never left Ianbert's mouth. No matter how much of a subordinate the other man was, he was still someone else's employee, and it was not the sort of thing one said to a person who had rolled up his sleeves and cooked for him. Instead Ianbert removed his antlered helmet and looked again at the bowl heaped high with fritters.
In the center an onion fritter, scored and fried so that it had bloomed like a flower bud, was surrounded by pieces whose orange, white, and purple colors faintly showed through the golden batter, letting one guess the original ingredients. Flat, round mixed-vegetable fritters made by shredding various vegetables and packing them together decorated the sides.
"It doesn't look particularly appetizing…"
"Pardon? But it's fried."
"And it's vegetables."
Of course he did not add that eating nothing but vegetables was currently his lot in life. Ianbert merely flexed his gauntleted fingers.
"Yes, yes. By the way, when do you prefer to eat something at its tastiest?"
"Obviously first, before anyone else gets to it. And of course before it ends up looking like this."
"Then start with the eggplant fritter."
And the eggplant fritter was—
Crunch-crack—
"…Hm?"
"See? Once you fry it, it's pretty good, right?"
It was not as bad as he had thought. No—it went far beyond "pretty good." The moment he bit through the batter, it felt as though layer upon layer of ice crystals were shattering all at once; the interior collapsed like butter, and there was not a single trace of the usual grassy vegetable smell. A light, savory saltiness urged him on to the next bite even before he had finished the first. He could swear it was as delicious as any decent meat dish. Ianbert shuddered at his own thought.
"This isn't just 'edible.' To think something this good could come from plain eggplant…?"
"Please try the others as well."
Still half in a daze, Ianbert simply obeyed Karem's words. The asparagus fritter stayed crisp right up to the moment he swallowed; the beet crumbled into fluffy flakes beneath the crunchy coating the instant his teeth closed. The mushrooms, chewy yet soft, were not quite meat, but the texture alone was close enough that his gums tingled with long-forgotten pleasure.
Catherine watched Ianbert silently empty the bowl, fritter crumbs and vegetable bits clinging to his fingers, with an expression that clearly said, He claimed he didn't want it, yet look at him go.
"Kid. I think something's missing, though."
"Huh? What—ah!"
What a blunder! Karem hurriedly ransacked the kitchen and quickly produced dipping sauces for the fritters: bright-red ketchup and an unidentified black liquid.
"Almost forgot."
"I know ketchup, but what's that black sauce?"
"Soy sauce. The flavor is rather strong, so dip lightly. Personally, I like the soy sauce best."
Salty, savory, and oily—and there was still more? Forgetting all notions of rudeness in the pursuit of even greater deliciousness, Ianbert willingly dunked the mixed-vegetable fritter he had been eating into the soy sauce.
"…Ahem!?"
"Hm? What's suddenly the matter?"
"No, it's just that—"
An explosive umami he had never experienced before raced like lightning from Ianbert's tongue all the way to the tips of his hair and the ends of his toes. After a brief freeze he began dunking fritter after fritter into the soy sauce in stunned silence.
…Garum without the fishy smell?
Anyone who had tasted garum admitted its excellence, but in the end that damned stench kept people away. To think such a thing existed in this world? The light, lingering, intensely savory taste that clung to the tongue carried a faint grassy note, yet nowhere was there any fishiness.
"I… I've never heard of this 'soy sauce' before. Is it a newly developed sauce? It's excellent—"
"Please eat plenty. This one isn't for sale."
"What? Why not!"
"Because even I can't produce it reliably."
Unlike other recipes that anyone could casually recreate once they had the instructions, soy sauce—or rather the fermented soybean blocks that were its raw material—had a serious problem. I still don't really understand how I make them myself. He boiled peas rather than soybeans, bound them in wheat straw (originally rice straw), and offered steady prayers until, somehow, meju was complete. And even now a considerable portion still failed, so mass production and wide distribution remained a distant dream.
At Karem's words Ianbert smacked his lips in regret and continued chewing fritters with gusto.
"Ah, if it's a secret technique then it's a shame, but it can't be helped."
That explosive umami, that flavor that seemed rich yet clean—even a man who scattered recipes of a grade everyone would understand as secret techniques still had things he did not wish to share. That was only natural for a human being. Of course, had Karem known, he would have said he was sick of making the stuff every time and would much rather buy what other people produced, but Ianbert, who had not even known him a full day, had no way of knowing that. He simply decided to understand while burying the regret inside himself.
"Besides, there are other sauces."
He tore off pieces of the blooming onion fritter and ate them, dipped beet fritters in ketchup, ate more mixed-vegetable fritters with a fresh refill of soy sauce, and then tossed a piece of broccoli into his mouth with no sauce at all.
Crunch-crack—
Raw vegetables he would not even have glanced at half a year ago. An unwanted daily life of nothing but raw vegetables and fruit, eaten only in secret, little by little, until the monotony made him sick. Ianbert's tongue and brain rejoiced at the greasy, stimulating taste of a proper cooked dish after so long.
Grrrrrrrrrk—
But could the same be said of his stomach?
"In all my life, vegetables this delicious—"
"…What was that sound just now?"
"It seemed to come from Lord Ianbert's stomach."
It had been a full half-year since the curse forced Ianbert to eat only raw vegetables and fruit—and even then only enough to barely stave off hunger, because of others' gazes, prejudices, and the taste itself. No matter how well-trained a mana user, no matter how sturdy a knight's body, a weakened stomach could not endure heavy salt and fried food. A knight knew his own body best.
Oh no.
Sensing the ominous warning rising inside him, Ianbert slowly set down the fritter in his hand. Reason and taste buds protested that this was an outrage—what did he think he was doing to the first proper meal he had eaten in half a year? But instinct, seized by crisis, ignored their complaints and made him put the antlered helmet he had briefly removed back on.
"This is sudden, but something urgent has come up and I must step out for a moment. Later, these fritters—"
"Ah, yes. As for the recipe, any time—"
"I'll be right back, so wait…!"
For a moment they were startled by the voice thick with anxiety. Then Catherine's look that said she had expected as much, and the sight of Ianbert clutching his lower abdomen as he bolted, made everything clear to Karem.
"…You did say you'd been eating nothing but a little grass for half a year, correct?"
"Yes."
"Even a knight's body, after living on tiny amounts of vegetables and fruit and magical tools, suddenly eating greasy fritters—"
"And his stomach had already turned over once before."
"Of course he'd have trouble."
Catherine nodded firmly, as if that were the only possible answer. There was no need to see where Ianbert had gone.
Attached Materials
— Fried Eggplant —
— Blooming Onion Fritters —
— Mixed Vegetable Fritters —
These are pictures drawn by ChatGPT.