Cephalopods Are Delicious (3)
Alicia's attempt was stopped cold in an instant.
But that alone proved one thing: at least the taste of the food was guaranteed.
The raw ingredients might have looked grotesque in their original form, but the dishes arrayed across the table right now looked mouthwatering from every angle. And once the mental barrier came down, the rich, oily, sweet-and-salty yet spicy aroma only sharpened their appetites.
"It may be made from mimic, but the flavor's solid enough."
"When has it ever not been?"
"True. The Red Witch's Fingers and the vanilla were the same."
Clink—
Alfred, who had been watching Alicia's awakened gluttony with quiet interest, ladled some jjamppong into a bowl.
"So how do they eat squid and octopus like this mimic back in Serbianus?"
"Stews, soups, pasta, paella, arancini, risotto—plenty of ways."
"Diverse, just like Serbianus itself."
"Of course, rice is expensive, so commoners usually stick to the first three I mentioned. Oh, and they eat it in salads too."
"Never heard of those last three dishes."
"More surprising is that they knead it into dough and bake it."
"...Wait, what did you just say?"
Karem, who had been savoring the long-missed nostalgic flavors yet still felt them two percent short without bonito flakes, snapped his head up.
"Hm? You mean the dough bit?"
"No. No. Not that. Did you just say rice?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
Problem? Everything that followed was the problem.
Rice? Rice? Had he really just said rice?
Thinking about it, it isn't completely impossible.
In a situation similar to the European nations of his past life, with a culture that seemed close to Italy, Serbianus having rice made sense enough. Even ancient Rome had eaten the stuff, after all.
But the word "rice" carried a weight for him that nothing else did. He had lived his entire previous life with rice as his staple grain, after all.
Ah. I want rice so bad.
Karem shook his head to brush off Catherine's questioning look and reached for the calamari Alicia had just returned to its place.
Crunch—
"Come to think of it, this fried mimic has a bit of a Serbianus feel to it."
"Is there something similar?"
"Yes. Their fried squid is made the same way—spiced batter deep-fried in oil."
"They must have a lot of oil there."
"It's the birthplace of olives. Of course they do."
The crisp texture, the garlic fragrance that punched through first, the subtle spices layered beneath, the chewy bite and savory taste—it was good enough to make his tongue, freshly uploaded with past-life memories, rejoice. Yet no matter how many pieces he ate, the emotion never went deeper than that.
The jjamppong he had improvised on a whim was the same. The takoyaki he had been popping one after another until moments ago was the same. Even the classic snack-bar fried squid was the same.
Karem's mind was already stuffed full with the single word "rice," frantically flipping through ancient recipes that stretched from his past life all the way into this one.
Ah, fuck, I want rice so bad.
Some people might call him dramatic over a single grain. But he would bet those same people would understand perfectly if they were forcibly barred from even smelling rice for eleven straight years.
I want to scoop steaming rice into a hot bowl of ox-bone soup and just shovel it down, then tear off a piece of kimchi on the side.
Namul bibimbap, all kinds of Chinese-style fried rice, the iron-plate fried rice you make as a dessert after dak-galbi or gamjatang, the sticky rice from rotisserie chicken, kimbap, sushi, musubi, risotto, nasi goreng, paella.
Hell, even soy-sauce butter rice would do.
Of course it wouldn't be the everyday staple rice of his past life. The countries that ate that as their main grain were a tiny minority worldwide. The rice Western kitchens mostly cooked with was indica—long-grain rice so light and slender it looked ready to float away on a breeze.
"What does that rice look like, by any chance?"
"Hmm? Lighter and weaker than wheat grains, and long."
Catherine's words made Karem abandon the last shred of hope he had been nursing. Still, it didn't matter. Long-grain rice had its own strengths. Outside of Korea, China, Japan, and a handful of special preparations, most rice dishes actually tasted better made with long-grain. Fried rice, for example.
The regret still wouldn't leave him, though.
...Wait. It's not like there's no substitute.
He wasn't talking about oats.
There's barley.
Barley was fairly common even in Iceland. Stupid Karem, only thinking of it now? Along with oats it had once been the staple of the poor, until Adobis Mountain wheat flooded in and relegated it mostly to beer and livestock feed or whatever.
The variety was different from the barley of his past life, but it was still barley. Steam it and you still got barley rice.
While Karem was busy vowing to make bibimbap with barley under Catherine's uneasy, suspicious stare, Alfred kept slurping down jjamppong.
Slurp—
"Kuaaah. Ahem. That was undignified of me."
The first mouthful hit hard—spicy, heavy, packed with umami. Right behind it came the clean, refreshing lift of the broth. A gentle sweetness and the crisp vegetables, all carrying the scent of the flame, threw a curveball. Every time he chewed the chewy mimic and soft pork, the savory flavors of sea and land mingled in his mouth. After he swallowed the vegetables, meat, and broth, a thick garlic fragrance heated his mouth together with the unique spicy fire of the Red Witch's Fingers.
...I could go for a beer.
No. Alfred immediately rejected the thought he had just had. The spicy stew made from mimic was definitely oily, but the aftertaste was clean. That called for a different kind of drink—not fruit wine like grape. Something high-proof and fiery. Mead, for example.
Haa—
But he couldn't drink right now. Yesterday would have been fine; today was not. The enormous haul the giant mimic had spat up after being defeated needed discussion—how to process it, tally it, and divide it. They would clearly be working late into the night until the camp was packed and the column ready to move again.
Of course no one would say a word if the duke himself wanted a drink. Alfred simply preferred working with a clear head. Mead was out. A single glass of wine might be acceptable, but...
Wine wouldn't really match anyway.
So Alfred tried to soothe himself by snacking on fried squid and takoyaki instead, yet the longing only grew bit by bit.
"Father, is that red soup good too?"
"It is. Perfect for your father's palate. Why? Want to try some?"
Alicia answered by nodding with fierce enthusiasm. Alfred personally ladled jjamppong into her bowl.
Slurp—
"Oh, ohhhh."
"Looks like it suits you."
"An oily yet spicy, scorching broth that sets the chest ablaze! Firm, chewy flesh tougher than clam, and the harmony with the meat and vegetables!"
"Your vocabulary improves by the day."
While Poppins felt the reward of her education at Alfred's words, Alicia carefully tasted the broth, the vegetables, the meat, then the broth again with a solemn expression before lifting her head.
"Karem. This would go better with pasta than eaten as is."
A genuine impression. Admiration rose of its own accord. When it came to the tongue, no one could deny hers.
"Soft and chewy rather than hard-boiled, you mean?"
"You know! Then why didn't you put any in now?"
"I didn't have time to make noodles as well."
Karem rolled his eyes sideways.
"And someone who's good at making noodles is currently under disciplinary action."
"I don't know what happened, but..."
Alicia had already pieced together exactly what had happened. Mary, who was still attending the unconvinced Catherine, flinched.
"Alicia thinks Mary still needs to work on her situational awareness."
"I've said this many times, Lady Alicia. I'm innocent. I only stepped away for a moment to wash the dishes—"
"You don't need to make excuses to Alicia."
"Enough pointless talk. Bring more of that Serbianus-style fried squid."
Sunk by the successive blows, Mary moved her hands again.
"More importantly, my lord."
"Atanitas."
"We may need to alter the column's route again."
Catherine's voice was firm despite the polite wording.
"There may be a dungeon along the path."
"I distinctly recall that mimics leave their dungeons once their bodies reach their size limit. No—that's the problem, isn't it."
"It won't be an artificial dungeon."
"Agreed. So it formed naturally."
Alfred paused while reaching for another takoyaki. Catherine, still chewing calamari, declared:
"There's no way that thing simply appeared here out of nowhere."
"Given the size of that giant mimic, the dungeon must be considerable. We'll have to reorganize the scouting parties."
"Are there any dungeons around here?"
"None that I know of. So it must have formed naturally. To think work keeps piling up one after another while we're headed for Kingsland."
Alfred popped takoyaki into his mouth in quick succession and let out a hot sigh. Any hope of resting during the journey was gone.
Slurp—
"Dungeons can form naturally?"
"...Mm. Yes."
Catherine rinsed her mouth with the jjamppong broth Mary poured and nodded.
"Magical tools, powerful residual will, monster nests—there are quite a few natural causes for a dungeon to appear."
"Then artificial dungeons would be facilities people built and later forgot?"
"Exactly. Once foot traffic stops, cities, villages, and buildings are quickly forgotten, and with enough time they sink into the earth."
"So... of the Palatino Empire?"
Forgotten ancient cities and buildings immediately brought one name to mind.
"No. It won't be that."
"You sound certain."
"South of Iceland, perhaps. But there are no ancient Palatino Empire ruins in Iceland. At least not that I know of. If anything exists, it would be ruins of the ancient Icelandic civilization. Correct?"
Alfred, who had single-handedly finished more than half the jjamppong, agreed.
"Even the family archives record that the people of the ancient Palatino Empire detested cold places like Iceland."
"The Middle Sea has always been warm, then and now. That makes sense."
"Which is why no artificial dungeon discovered in Iceland has yet turned out to be a Palatino Empire ruin."
When both a local and a self-styled expert spoke with such certainty, there wasn't much left to say.
"Ah, of course that doesn't mean Iceland has no ancient-civilization dungeons at all. Hmm."
Catherine ate a takoyaki, silently blew out a breath, then continued.
"It's simply that there are no Palatino Empire sites."
"People lived here too, after all."
They said ten years could change even mountains and rivers, but Karem still found it hard to picture. He had never seen a dungeon himself, and the idea that they could form naturally—never mind the artificial ones—was a little fascinating.
Crunch—
"Mm. A bit under-seasoned to eat plain."
"Dip it in soy sauce the way Lady Alicia does."
"Oh. Oh. Yes, this way it really..."
The crisp yet soft texture and savory flavor were lifted by the soy sauce's depth, emphasizing a clean taste in the mouth.
"Alicia's dream is to gather companions someday and adventure through dungeons."
"Lady Alicia, I keep telling you it's dangerous."
Poppins shut down Alicia's nonsense at once, but Catherine and Karem still jolted for a moment at the sheer scale of that dream.
"Oh dear, the dishes seem to be cooling a little."
At Mary's words, Catherine's tent filled for a while with nothing but the clink of utensils and the crunch of fried batter.
Murmur-murmur— murmur-murmur—
Suddenly the noise outside the tent grew thicker, as if something abrupt had happened.
"The buzzing is getting louder."
"Probably a brawl."
Alfred's retainers were under strict military discipline, but adventurers were another story, so Karem found it plausible enough.
Flap—!
"My adorable little cub!"
Until Richard charged into the tent, that is.
"Grandpa's here!"
"Grandfather!"
The sudden appearance of Iceland's strongest man.
What the hell is that old man doing here?
Even the short, spiked hair, the magnificently trimmed beard, and the well-fitted formal clothes couldn't hide the muscles that simply did not match from the neck down. Everyone seated in Catherine's tent froze in shock—except for one person.
The duke family's only daughter shot toward Richard like a cannonball.
"Come outside right now!"
"Uh. Can I finish eating first?"
"This grandpa caught a giant dungeon hamster that was wandering nearby just for my adorable little cub!"
"A present! But what's a hamster?"
"Oh, we'll leave that as a joy for the eyes."
Richard hoisted Alicia over his shoulder like a sack of rice and strode straight out of the tent.
Attached Material
— Jjamppong —
A picture drawn by ChatGPT.