Iceworm Skewers

The overpowering fishy stench blanketed everything.

That did not mean the meat was entirely without flavor.

Iceworm.

The name had made him think of a mere worm without a second thought, yet its eel-like shape proved telling. From the pale flesh Karem could dimly sense the distinctive texture and taste of white-fleshed fish.

And the meatier cuts carried far less of that reek.

The source of the stench was clearly the belly fat that had wrapped the entrails.

In that case, if they simply trimmed away the fascia and grilled it with nothing but salt, it ought to be delicious.

So why…?

"Come on—put in even a little effort and this could taste great. Why are you just eating it like this?"

"Sir? Because this is the fastest way to get it down."

"…Even if it's the fastest—"

"Field rations are always like that. And there are a lot of people still waiting their turn."

All right. Fair enough.

This wasn't the modern world with combat rations or mess trucks. Zoric, the subjugation commander, had given them only a tight window of time; they had to eat in a hurry and get back to work. That much Karem could understand.

Until the supply soldier kept talking.

"Above all, when the monster meat is this fresh, you have to eat it in its pure, natural state for it to give you strength. Fussing over it and changing the flavor would take too long, and for us lower ranks it would just be a luxury."

"Even so, you're seriously eating it raw like this?"

"There's also Iceworm jelly made by boiling the stock down hard and letting it set, or you can just roast a piece over the fire separately if you'd prefer?"

Karem turned at the supply soldier's words. Roasting a whole chunk over a separate campfire and dumping salt on it was the better of the two options.

A pot of stock made by long-boiling Iceworm meat and scraps of hide was being cooled with snow and ice; every time the ladle stirred, the thickening mass shattered into a horrifying, gluey viscosity as it set into something resembling jelly.

"You've got to be kidding meeeeeee!!!"

Karem's heart screamed at him to overturn every pot of that abomination right then and there, but he could not. People might be guilty of crimes; food itself never was.

Carrying the sack stuffed full of Iceworm meat he had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been given, Karem dumped it limply into Mary's arms.

Seeing him look half-soulless, Catherine regarded him with half-lidded eyes that said she had expected exactly this.

"So? What's the verdict?"

"…That's the average for our kingdom?"

"Not all of it, but it's typical enough."

The Middle Ages were, at their core, closed societies.

Culture differed from region to region, city to city, village to village.

Of course everyone on the Europa continent already knew that food below the level of ordinary Seophon nobility was mostly a disaster.

Catherine snorted as if the whole idea were absurd.

"A kid who used to catch rats, snakes, and bugs to roast because there wasn't enough meat sure has a lot to say."

"Well, yeah, but…"

"I never stayed long in Seophon, but from what I've seen, those people and the you of the past are about the same. You're a little better, kid, I'll grant you that."

"What…?!"

"Though the fact that you cook this well anyway makes me wonder if you're some kind of mutant."

Catherine clapped him on the back as if it were nothing, but the recipient could not even react. Taking an insult that large head-on…

Wait. Hold on.

A shocking thought flashed through Karem's mind.

Even if it was for survival, I used to roast tasteless bugs and rats and snakes whenever I could. Do I really have any room to talk?

Having undergone a brutal round of self-reflection, Karem trudged blankly after Catherine and Mary until they retraced their steps to Catherine's tent and he finally came back to himself.

"Kid. How long until the meal's ready?"

"I'll have it out shortly."

Karem squeezed his eyes shut and forced the dazed feeling away.

His employer was hungry; he could not stand around like this.

He fed a few more sticks of firewood into the dying brazier at the center of the tent, coaxing the embers back to life, then took the Iceworm meat from Mary—who had already stepped close—and began trimming it into broad, long pieces.

He could have roasted whole chunks, of course.

But there was no time to sit around cooking those.

His employer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was hungry.

Karem rolled the taste of the earlier monstrosity around in his mind.

He remembered clearly the hidden flavor buried beneath that fierce fishiness.

It had been strongly savory and extremely oily.

At the same time it offered a dual texture: springy meat that grew tender as you chewed.

And he knew a fish that tasted similar.

"I vaguely thought it looked like eel…"

He had not expected the flavor to match as well. Just to be sure he snipped off an end piece and grilled it over the brazier; the taste was unmistakably close to eel.

No—the savoriness was even stronger here.

Even without seasoning the flavor came through clearly.

On top of that, for something so mild it was remarkably rich in fat.

In that case the cooking method was simple.

"Mary. Could you get me some wheat straw?"

"Wheat straw, you say?"

"Yes."

"The subjugation force's is for feed; that won't do. I'll have to go to the village. Contractor?"

"Go ahead."

Having received Catherine's permission, Mary stepped out of the tent.

"Wheat straw, though? We've got plenty of firewood."

"I'll be grilling the meat over both a wood fire and a straw fire."

"Over straw? Hmm."

Catherine could not quite picture it. Even for someone of her experience, straw was feed, building material, or tool stock—nothing more.

But deep in Karem's memory the taste of pork belly and eel grilled over wood and straw remained vivid.

Sensitive people claimed they could tell the difference between the aromas of wheat straw and rice straw, but Karem's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠palate was not that refined.

Still, he knew it added a rich, toasty fragrance.

"Even the belly cuts packed with offal stench should be manageable this way."

"I'm back."

"That was fast."

"It isn't far; of course it was."

Mary strode into the tent as if it were nothing, a great cylindrical bundle of wheat straw balanced on her shoulder, and set it down lightly.

So the ingredients were all ready… yet Karem still felt a pang of regret.

With neither soy sauce nor gochujang on hand, hoping for a proper eel glaze was pure luxury.

He had sugar and pepper, but the lack still stung.

Looking slightly dejected, Karem threaded the long-trimmed strips of Iceworm meat onto iron skewers in loose waves.

"Kid. Something missing?"

"No. Just wishing I had a few more ingredients."

"Ingredients? Did you already run out of the sugar and pepper you brought? Mary?"

"No. It's nothing. Anyway, there's going to be a lot of smok—"

"Just start grilling."

Karem flung a handful of straw straight onto the dying wood fire.

The bone-dry straw ignited before it even settled, belching acrid smoke.

Catherine flicked a light breeze of mana; the black smoke that had begun to fill the tent was sucked upward and out through the hole cut in the center of the roof.

The pale Iceworm meat began to sizzle.

Karem quickly sprinkled salt over the skewers; it crackled and jumped.

"Mary."

"Yes?"

"Cook these without letting them touch the flames directly."

"Hm? Understood."

As Mary took the skewers with practiced ease and began grilling them exactly as requested, Karem opened the storage box at once.

Salt and vinegar.

Sugar and pepper.

He combined the four essential seasonings in a pan and set it to heat.

When the sugar melted and turned brown he added a splash of water and stirred so it would not burn.

While Mary turned the skewers he brushed the finished glaze on in thin, repeated layers, tossing more straw onto the brazier whenever the smoke thinned so that a thick haze rose again.

Mary cocked one eyebrow.

Brushing sauce on meat and smoking it over straw while it cooked…

She was familiar with smoking. But with wheat straw?

She already knew Iceworm tasted similar to eel. And to her, eel was for stews, soups, pies, or simple roasting.

This half-smoked method of cooking while bathing it in dense smoke felt completely foreign.

And not even wood smoke—straw?

Yet the moment she caught the scent rising from the skewers she clicked her tongue.

"Well, the rolling stone that showed up certainly has the skill."

"You admit it and still grumble."

"Junior Karem, kindly keep quiet."

The air inside the tent changed.

Catherine registered the shift at once.

Because of the sugar in the sauce, the once snow-white meat on the skewers deepened with every stroke of Karem's brush—from pale brown to a richer shade each time it passed through the thick smoke and out again.

And with it came a powerful, savory aroma braided with sweetness. Sharp, bright notes of vinegar and pepper prickled at the nose.

"Huh. So that's why you used the smoky straw."

"If you grill it over direct flame the glaze all burns off."

Many cooks claimed the charred exterior was the absolute peak of a meat's umami—but only if it was charred just enough. Otherwise it was nothing but soot.

Yet controlling fire was the foundation of cooking.

And foundations were always the hardest things to master.

Mary, long since proficient at the flame, examined the skewers from every angle.

"They're nearly done."

"Right. One last brush of glaze and we finish."

The sugar in the sauce had caramelized; the Iceworm meat that had started out pure white now wore a mouth-watering brown crust and gleamed with a soft sheen.

Karem brought out plates; Mary set the skewers down and immediately fetched a folding table, finishing the meal setup in moments.

Because of the grilling, lunch had run a little later than usual. Expectation began to bloom across Catherine's carefully maintained poker face.

The instant Mary deftly slid the meat from the skewers and offered it, Catherine's anticipation exploded; she bit in without hesitation.

"How is it?"

"What kind of question is that!"

Catherine cried out brightly.

The moment her teeth sank in, flavor flooded her entire mouth.

Then the scent of fire unfurled, striking the nose and rising into the head.

And beneath it, no less potent, came a deep, toasted fragrance—exactly the mellow autumn perfume that rose when you buried yourself in a mountain of harvested wheat straw.

The indirect heat had reduced the glaze until it dried in layers, almost frying in the meat's own fat, while the interior cooked as gently as if it had been steamed, remaining tender.

On top of that: salty, sweet, spicy, and finishing with a bright acidity.

Sight, smell, hearing, touch, taste.

Centered on the sense of smell, it was a devastating flavor that assaulted all five senses at once.

"Ahem. Mary."

"Contractor. Is there something you need?"

"Wine—no, a mug of beer—"

After tasting sweet-salty-spicy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with a final tang of acid, craving beer was only natural.

Mary rose at Catherine's request.

And… Karem cast a few hopeful glances of his own.

"Ahem."

"Junior Karem?"

"Just one mug for me too…"

Honestly, holding back would have been inhuman.

Karem dodged Mary's half-lidded glare and pleaded with every ounce of sincerity he possessed.

Fortunately, the beer she brought back held exactly the refreshing quality both of them had been hoping for.

A picture ChatGPT drew for me~