Dakgangjeong After Class (2)
It was nothing but lean meat, and the batter was a little different, but at a glance the dakgangjeong looked much like any of the countless pieces of seasoned fried chicken William had eaten before.
So he assumed the taste would not be all that different either.
He was wrong.
From the very first moment the dakgangjeong entered his mouth and he began to chew, it was different. No—even from the careless instant he first picked one up with his fingers, it was already far removed from ordinary seasoned chicken.
Of course fried chicken dunked deep in oil comes out crispy. In fact any fried food is supposed to be crispy. But once sauce enters the picture, everything changes. Batter is still only flour and crumbs in the end. The moment it is tossed in sauce it starts drinking moisture. The crisp shell softens; the whole point of deep-frying seems to vanish. Yet that peculiar half-chewy texture that never quite reclaims its moisture produces a unique savor every time the teeth sink in.
Crunch!
And yet here was something that stayed this crisp even after it had drunk its fill of sauce? The batter, heavy with glaze, was not quite as shatteringly crisp as a fresh-out-of-the-oil fried chicken crust, but it was still remarkably crunchy. On top of that, every bite released the distinctive fragrance of soy sauce—sweet-salty and thick—wrapping the mild, dry chicken and lifting it up.
It was a completely different taste from any fried or seasoned chicken he had known.
Beneath the crisp or chewy shell hid tender meat, and the moment the batter tore, juices usually exploded outward. The meat inside these dakgangjeong pieces, however, was anything but tender; it was dry. There was almost no juice, and the seasoning was so faint the flesh itself tasted plain.
Yet the thick, deeply flavored sauce that had soaked into the batter erased every shortcoming.
Crunch—snap—
Just when tongue and teeth were growing used to the sauce-laden crust, the crispness faded. The gift, though, did not end there. In its place came a sticky, chewy resistance born of all that absorbed sauce. Bits of still-crisp batter mingled with the glutinous, sauce-slicked coating and the chicken skin; every chew released a rich, nutty savor. Together with the mild, dry meat it felt exactly like biting into thin sheets of candy that had been stretched and set until they were both brittle and elastic.
Crisp, chewy, sweet, salty, mild, intense—unlike fried chicken or seasoned chicken eaten as a meal, this dakgangjeong felt like a snack.
But nothing joyful lasts forever. The crisp-chewy batter, the fragrant skin, the sweet-salty sauce and the plain dry meat that matched it so well all disappeared down his throat soon enough.
Gulp.
There was no reason to feel sorry. William simply grabbed three more pieces at once with his bare hand.
Crunch—snap—crack—
"The cooking method looks almost the same, yet the difference is this big."
"Indeed. It is clearly different from ordinary chicken."
Mary stuffed her mouth full of the bright-red dakgangjeong, chewed, and nodded.
"It is closer to a snack than a meal—sticky and sweet. Almost like chewing candy."
She swallowed and immediately speared another piece with her fork.
"Mm, but the more I eat, the drier it feels. The sauce helps, but still…"
"The red sauce next to it is spicy, so it is less so. Why not alternate between that and the soy sauce one?"
"Are you a genius?"
William was genuinely impressed. That kind of creative leap—truly the work of a house brownie. The moment he finished chewing and swallowing, he grabbed a big piece of the spicy-red dakgangjeong with his fingers.
"You are not using a fork? You keep picking them up with your hands."
"Shhh. My hands are already dirty; it does not matter."
More than that, the true way to eat chicken had always been with one's fingers—or so claimed the boy who had only been eating it for less than a year. Such trifles, however, were nothing next to dakgangjeong.
Of course, since both versions started as the same fried chicken and were merely tossed in different sauces, the texture was much the same. The flavor, though, was night and day. So was the aroma. The spicy-red dakgangjeong was already sending out a sharp fragrance before it even touched the tongue; the moment it hit, it jolted his tired palate awake. The heat and fire of the red sauce made his mouth water at once, moistening the dryness left by the previous pieces.
"Mary."
"Yes?"
"The soy sauce and the Bulmason paste in this glaze—you said the base was beans, right? I heard that much, at least."
"Yes. Boiled beans bound with rice straw and fermented. Junior Karem called them meju."
"Who would ever believe this came from beans?"
William popped another soy-sauce dakgangjeong into his mouth to clear the lingering heat.
Crunch—
No matter how he ate it, there was not a trace of bean flavor. The same held true for the spicy-red version. The soy-sauce dakgangjeong carried a unique savor that rose from tongue and the base of the nose with every bite. Even the Bulmason paste—so often mistaken for pure heat—still held a thick, nutty sweetness once the fire was set aside.
"I do not know the details myself, but I have heard there is some peculiar fermentation process that only works with rice straw."
"Only rice straw? Reeds or anything else will not do?"
"Yes. And even then he often grumbles that he has to pray to the gods to raise the success rate."
Well, more cleaning for me, so I do not mind. William half-listened without much interest and kept emptying both bowls. Dakgangjeong mattered more than such trifles. Mary seemed to realize it too and fell quiet. For a while the only sounds were hands and fork moving.
When the mountains of soy-sauce and spicy-red dakgangjeong in the large bowls had lowered a little, their movements slowed as well.
"…Even switching back and forth, there is a limit."
"Agreed. Dry and chalky."
"So that is why he said he would bring beer."
William had thought of beer with fried chicken as nothing more than a casual truth; only now did he understand Karem's reasoning. Even the spice that stimulated his mouth had reached its limit. Every chew of dakgangjeong stole more moisture until his mouth felt as dry as gravel.
"Beer would be perfect right now."
"Agreed."
William and Mary thought the same thing at the same moment. Cool, sparkling beer flooding into a mouth as parched as drought-cracked earth—like a sudden high tide. Heavy Eisenwald stout would not suit. What they needed now was ordinary wheat or barley beer. Lager.
As if on cue, Karem pushed through the swinging door, a small jar in one hand and a little beer keg balanced on the shoulder of his ringed left arm.
Clunk—
"Brought the beer. And some chicken radish for a palate cleanser."
"Finally!"
William accepted the keg with a grin.
"Why so late? The cold room is right next door. Did you go all the way to the first-floor storeroom?"
"Ah, not the first floor. Narke was sneaking cookies again."
"Lady Escarna?"
"Well, Berseingeto cookies are pretty popular among mages."
Mages were, at base, a profession that used the mind. And when one used the mind, one craved something sweet. In that sense the Florentines and Berseingeto cookies Mary baked whenever she had a free moment and stocked in the cold room enjoyed considerable popularity. Sweet enough, rich with nuts so they were fragrant, filling after only a few bites, and crunchy the whole way down so they never grew boring. Mages often slipped in to steal them even outside snack time. Mary tilted her head, uncomprehending.
"I still do not understand. Why not simply take them out openly and eat them? Is there any need for all that?"
"Like Alicia sneaking into the main house or the tower here and quietly helping herself?"
"Certainly a similar feeling—wait, would you please repeat what you just said?"
Mary had been nodding blankly as if to say "exactly that," but at William's words her head whipped around so fast it almost cracked.
"What? That Alicia sneaks into the tower and takes things?"
"…I had thought the cookies were disappearing faster than usual. So that was the reason."
"Anyway—beer. Beer."
While Mary burned with competitive fire, William opened the keg's spigot and filled the beer mugs Karem had brought. Once all three cups brimmed with foam he shoved the keg aside, lifted the first glass as the head began to settle, and drank.
Gulp—gulp—gulp—
"Ahhh—!"
He had meant to drain it in one go, but the involuntary cry of delight stopped him. Cool, refreshing liquid seeped into every dry crevice of lips and tongue that had felt like Iceland's rare sun-baked sand. All the way down the throat, lively bubbles and carbonation danced, sweeping away the bitter aftertaste and the thick dryness together.
William stared up at the kitchen ceiling. Joy welled up from deep inside him.
"Huuu! Yes. This is it. This is why he said he would bring beer."
"Yeah. I barely brined them, so they are dry. I figured we would need it."
Of course Karem would have preferred cola. But nowhere in Europa was there anything resembling cola. So there was no choice but to drink the next best thing.
"Anything fizzy and refreshing is pretty much the same."
"Hm? What did you just say?"
"Beer is good, but there is also chicken radish for a palate cleanser."
Chicken radish—radish to eat with chicken, was it? Looking at the jar, though, it was not plain radish; it looked more like pickles.
"No, more than that—the smell is different somehow?"
"It is better than I expected."
Curiosity lit William's eyes. Mary kept spearing pieces of the chicken radish and nodding.
"Sweet-and-sour… the sweetness is strong. Did you use sugar?"
"Ordinary pickles are so sour I can only eat a little."
"That is only natural, is it not?"
Mary pushed the jar toward William and took another bite of spicy-red dakgangjeong.
"You have to pickle them in vinegar if you want them to keep."
"Sugar works just as well."
"Still… and this way it tastes better too."
In the end, any method that sealed the food off from outside air was enough. Salting or sugaring drew out moisture so bacteria could not invade; soaking in liquor or vinegar simply killed them outright.
Crunch-crunch—
"You should have brought it out sooner. Anyway—Karem."
"Yes? Something else you want to eat?"
"This is enough for now. No, not that."
William, still chewing a piece of dakgangjeong, waved a hand, then sidled up to Karem with a sly smile and jabbed him in the side with a finger.
"So, since when have you two been calling each other by name?"
"Huh? By name?"
"Wow, and now that I look, there is a ring I have never seen on your left hand."
"Ah."
Karem glanced down at the ring he had put back on without thinking. He had not given it any special meaning, but being called out made his face heat for no reason.
"Your ears are getting redder by the second."
"Well… it just sort of happened. What of it?"
"Come on, nothing to be embarrassed about. Everyone already knew you two were lovey-dovey."
"Uh… I never meant to hide it. And I never spread it either."
"You and Atanitas stayed quiet, sure."
Then Catherine and I? So a third party? Karem's eyes flicked, almost without meaning to, toward the brownie still chewing dakgangjeong. Mary looked indignant.
"Are you singling me out as the suspect? Is the relationship between myself, my contractor, and Junior Karem so shallow?"
"Shall I remind you who was the one that completely ruined the nice atmosphere last time?"
"Good heavens. But Junior Karem, please listen. I am truly wronged."
"I have heard that strong denial is strong affirmation—"
Karem eyed Mary with suspicion while she thumped her chest and kept enthusiastically working through dakgangjeong, chicken radish, and beer.
"Well, Mary over there is not the one who spread it."
"And how would the second young master know that?"
"Because I heard it from our little chubby youngest."
Alicia, then. Karem absently slapped his knee in understanding. He could still clearly picture Alicia after Mary first shattered the mood—stammering, tiny hands twitching as she tried to salvage the situation. After that neither Catherine nor he himself had ever asked Alicia to keep it secret. There had been no real reason to hide it. But had it really spread through the entire castle?
Come to think of it, even people outside the castle knew…
At the coming-of-age ceremony there had been participants and guests who casually gossiped about the distorted sounds Catherine had made while trembling.
"Ohh, getting redder and redder."
"He looks about to explode."
"Both of you, shut up."
It was one thing to snap at Mary, but far too rude for a great noble's son; still Karem could not hold the words back. The moment they left his mouth he gulped beer. Whatever the hard-to-describe feeling in his chest, the dakgangjeong, chicken radish, and beer remained delicious.
"Ah. I almost forgot. Junior Karem."
"Yes?"
"His Grace the Grand Duke Godwin is waiting downstairs."
"Hm?"
"It has been quite some time now."
"What?"
Why are you only telling me this now?
Attached Materials
Chapter 243: Dakgangjeong After Class (2)
— Dakgangjeong (Sweet and Spicy) —
A picture drawn by ChatGPT.