Lunch for Distinguished Guests
As the lids covering the dishes were lifted one by one, the warm air of the dining room shifted.
"Beet chips and vegetables sautéed in butter, a cloud omelet filled with sautéed ham, cream pasta with five kinds of mushrooms, meat pie, and Wellington steak."
"You prepared all this in that short time?"
"Do you have any idea how hard I worked?"
"Hmm."
Course meals had only begun to appear toward the tail end of the Middle Ages—what people usually called the Renaissance. So even though this was a fantasy world, the Europa continent still clung to medieval habits, and it was normal to bring every dish out onto the table at once. A true course service with generous pauses between plates might have been manageable, but time was already short and even ten bodies would not have been enough. On top of that, the Wellington steak and meat pie were the only dishes he had planned in advance; everything else had been thrown together on the fly. Even that would have been impossible without Mary.
Karem complained openly to Catherine, and since she knew exactly how hard he had pushed, all she could do was praise him for his efforts.
While Karem and Catherine bickered right in front of the guests, Godwin and Victor simply blinked and stared at the steaming plates.
"Victor."
"Yes, Young Master Godwin?"
"These dishes. Do you recognize any of them?"
"Aside from that meat pie, the big loaf of bread, and what looks like an omelet, I haven't the faintest idea. Of the sauces that came with them, only the mustard is familiar."
"Come now. You have more experience and years than I do."
"And I still don't know them, Young Master."
"Ha. The same man who once shook all of Europa as a smuggler?"
Godwin spoke as if teasing him, yet when Victor answered with complete seriousness he was genuinely startled. Godwin had not been joking. Until the previous Duke of Iceland had recruited him, Victor had bought and sold everything except drugs and people—a career every informed person knew about. That was why they called him the Smuggling King. Some admired him for it; others despised him. And the Smuggling King's principal customers had been the powerful of every nation: wealthy farmers, great merchants, nobles, and royalty. Thanks to them he had been treated to every delicacy under the sun.
So what on earth were these things?
"You said pasta was a dish from the Servianus side, didn't you?"
"Yes, that much is certain. Though the appearance is completely different."
"Hmm. Asking directly will be fastest. Hey! Little chef!"
At Godwin's call, Karem—who had still been squabbling with Catherine—snapped his head up and hurried over. Arguing in front of guests had been a lapse in manners.
"Yes, Young Master Felwinter."
"How many Felwinters are there in this castle? Just call me Godwin. Anyway, there are a lot of dishes I've never seen before. I'm wondering where I should even start."
"Begin with the pasta and the steak."
The other dishes would still be fine once they cooled. Pasta, however, would swell and grow soggy with time. The Wellington steak was the same; the crisp pastry shell would stiffen and the meat inside would toughen. Fortunately Mary had already demonstrated how to eat them, so Godwin and Victor followed her example with practiced ease.
The moment the sauce-coated pasta reached their mouths on the fork, both men's eyes flew wide open. An explosive fragrance of mushrooms wrapped in the gentle embrace of cream. Before they could even savor it properly, the long strands of pasta vanished down their throats. The fleeting taste left a lingering regret on their tongues.
As soon as the two guests' pasta plates were half empty, Karem carved the Wellington steak. The cross-section of what had looked like nothing more than a large loaf of bread was revealed. Receiving a generous slice, Victor let out a quiet murmur of admiration. Cutting into it, he found the idea truly ingenious: buttery pastry on the outside, an explosive layer of minced mushrooms filling the middle, and the rich meaty aroma of beef tenderloin binding it all together. He almost felt apologetic for having thought of it as a mere oversized pie.
If the seasoned and experienced Victor was this moved, the younger Godwin—who had seen far less of the world—was even more so. He finished the pasta in a flash and was already on his second slice of Wellington when he exclaimed in delight.
"That acidity at the finish—that's mustard."
"I brushed it on the surface of the meat so it wouldn't feel too rich."
"Ha."
The Seophon Kingdom was notorious for its terrible food, yet paradoxically it was also famous for having the most developed grilled-meat cuisine on the continent. Even there, steak was normally finished with herbs and butter; brushing it with mustard was unheard of. When the gravy sauce joined the mix, the nutty richness and bright acidity struck the tongue like a saw blade—cutting, then soothing, then cutting again.
And the omelet? It parted under the cutlery with no resistance at all. Victor and Godwin could scarcely believe it had been made from eggs—until they tasted it. The texture was like someone had torn a piece of clear blue sky and gently pan-fried it. Only the faint savor of sautéed ham and the mellow richness of egg itself convinced them it was real. No wonder Alicia had been so greedy for it—
Just then something caught Godwin's eye.
"Karem. What is this sauce?"
"The sauce, sir?"
"Yes. I recognize the mustard and gravy on the far left, but I have no idea what the other two are."
"The yellow one is honey mustard; the white one is Maoines."
"Hmm."
So that was why the omelet had tasted savory and salty yet just a little plain. Godwin immediately set aside the familiar mustard and took a little of each of the other two. He dipped a piece of omelet and felt time itself stretch around him. The dense, oily richness and bright acidity that rang from the tip of his tongue through his entire body—from crown to soles—was something no one who lived with Iceland's brutal cold could possibly resist.
Victor, on the other hand, was trembling not because of the sauces but because of Karem himself. It was not that honey mustard and Maoines failed to suit his taste; they were outstanding. What shook him was the boy's age. Victor could say with confidence that he had eaten half the fine cuisine of the continent, if not all of it. In pure experience of gourmet food he outstripped even the dukes of Seophon. Plenty of people worked in kitchens, yet those qualified to create sauces could be counted on one hand. And here was a child who had not even undergone his coming-of-age ceremony inventing entirely new ones. That was a feat even an old chef who had devoted his whole life to cooking would find difficult.
Of course Karem had only thrown them together as a hasty substitute for ketchup, nothing more than a recreation of memories from his previous life. But the impact and influence of Maoines were bound to be far greater than Karem imagined—especially when one considered the place mayonnaise occupied in modern cuisine. For the moment, however, Victor decided to concentrate on the meal. Otherwise the young master he served looked ready to devour every last dish on the table.
Watching them, Karem breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Only now did he realize that in his haste he had forgotten dessert entirely, but the guests seemed thoroughly satisfied as things stood.
Catherine, however, called him over with a look of pure disbelief.
"Kid. You finally did it."
"Pardon? Isn't it a good thing if the guests like the food?"
"The result is still excessive."
"Excuse me?"
Catherine pointed at Victor and Godwin, who—after chewing and swallowing beet chips dipped in the Maoines Mary had handed them—had begun smearing Maoines on every remaining item in sight. Karem immediately understood what she meant.
"You've just created two more people like Lady Alicia."
"Is it that bad?"
"Of course it is. What, you don't feel it?"
"Well… at least they're enjoying the meal, so that's good… right?"
Naturally Karem felt nothing of the sort. The other dishes had produced the same reaction Catherine herself usually gave. But to flip their eyes like that over Maoines? What he failed to grasp was simple: even if the Middle Ages were relatively undeveloped in culinary terms, similar foods still existed. There had been omelets, there had been pasta, and the Wellington steak—though it looked like a loaf—was essentially a form of pie. Maoines, however, and the honey mustard born from it, were different. A sauce of taste and texture never before seen anywhere. In a medieval world whose sauces had been limited to wine-based mixtures, sweet-and-sour fruit sauces, rich butter sauces, and gravy reduced from meat juices, an eighteenth-century sauce arrived with devastating force. To put it simply, for people of Northern Europe and Russia, mayonnaise was practically life itself.
Yet the connection did not immediately click for Karem; he merely thought, Is that so? which only irritated Catherine a little more.
After focusing solely on the meal for a while, Godwin finally set down his utensils and spoke to Catherine with an excited expression.
"Atanitas. Where in the world did you find a chef like this?"
"Would you believe me if I said I just happened to pick him up on the road from Kingsland to Iceland?"
"Please don't lie. Looking at his skill alone, I'd have trouble believing he was the royal palace chef."
"But that is the exact truth—neither more nor less."
Catherine met Karem's eyes for a moment, then explained the circumstances. There was nothing particularly worth hiding. All sorts of people from every walk of life had fled to Iceland. Victor himself, who now served as Godwin's attendant, was the classic example of someone who had run to Iceland and become a noble.
"Ha. A serf, you say."
"That was exactly how I felt when I first picked the kid up."
"I can hardly believe it."
"He claims it's because he's a genius at cooking."
At those words Godwin and Victor both turned to stare at Karem with identical looks of sheer disbelief. Faced with those incredulous gazes, Karem had only one response: he shrugged as if to say, So what? Explaining everything would be a nuisance; let them simply believe he was a genius.
And Godwin and Victor had no choice but to accept it. Apart from the meat pie they had completely forgotten about after the first bite, every other dish was either completely new or a form they had never seen. Above all, inventing a sauce like Maoines at Karem's age made the word "genius" spring to the lips of its own accord. History was full of prodigies who had shone brightly even at a young age.
Victor, finally emerging from the afterglow of the Maoines, rubbed the corners of his eyes.
"A genius, is it? Well, considering that Lady Atanitas herself is the very definition of a genius, the claim holds water. Ha… cooking of this caliber at such a tender age."
"With skill like this he could serve as a sacrificial chef at the Winter-Ascend festival, couldn't he?"
"Certainly. Talent of this level would more than qualify him."
Winter-Ascend? Sacrificial chef? Are they talking about offering something as a sacrifice?
Before Karem could even ask what that meant, Catherine—who had been proudly boasting about her personal chef—objected.
"No. Qualification as a sacrificial chef requires three recommenders…"
"Myself, Alicia, and you make three, do they not, Atanitas?"
"Including His Lordship that would indeed be three. The numbers work out."
"…It really would work."
She had been about to wave the idea away as nonsense, yet the more Godwin and Victor spoke, the more tempted she looked. Never mind Winter-Ascend or anything else—
"What exactly is Winter-Ascend that you're talking about offering a sacrifice?"
"Ah. I suppose I have to start the explanation from there."
Attached Materials
— Beet Chips —
— Mushroom Cream Pasta —
— Cloud Omelet (Soufflé Omelet) —
— Wellington Steak —
