Never Too Old to Learn

Jigmeser had always been content with the life he led.

It was only natural that a person's path would have its twists and turns. The persecution he had endured after shaving his head and beard for the sake of cooking. The fact that he stood a full head taller than other dwarves. At the time those hardships had felt endless. Yet looking back, every one of those moments and experiences had become the flesh and blood that forged the chef he was today. A little luck and skill had done the rest. Long ago Jigmeser had claimed the post of head chef to the Felwinter family and risen to the absolute peak of Winterhome's kitchens.

When the subject was cooking, even his lord Alfred listened closely to his counsel. Iona, Alfred's closest confidant, respected him, so lesser nobles all bowed and scraped. Above all, the Felwinters he served were people who made cooking for them a genuine pleasure. As a chef he could say with confidence that they were the finest patrons imaginable—starting with the simple fact that they were nobles who never picked at their food!

But then, one day…

"Mmm… isn't there anything else?"

"What? My lady Alicia, what do you mean? Is the flavor—"

"No, it isn't that they taste bad."

She was speaking of the very snacks she normally adored to the point of hoarding them: biscuits studded with desert dates from sand tortoises imported from the Adobis New Kingdom, scones baked with mammoth butter, Highland-tribe cream and marmalade jam. What was this? Had her palate changed? Jigmeser knew children's tastes could shift overnight, but this quickly? While he was still reeling, she added,

"Still, compared to that pudding… Ah, never mind! Old man, these are delicious too!"

"…'Too'?"

"…Oops!"

Jigmeser felt his soul leave his body. His clueless subordinates assumed the young lady's preferences had simply matured. Jigmeser, however, was certain of one thing: Lady Alicia could not tell a lie. Therefore the "too" referred to that pudding—whatever it was.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cook's identity remained hidden because Alicia herself refused to name him. But Jigmeser was a dwarf. His people were legendary for digging endlessly into their chosen craft. He coaxed her with the snacks she still liked (though not as much as before) and soon learned the pudding's ingredients, texture, and taste. Reproducing it was no great challenge for him. When he succeeded he could only marvel.

"Eggs, milk, sugar, and water… and this is what you get?"

It had been a long time since anything had shocked him so thoroughly. Then Godwin drove the wedge deeper.

"Young Master Godwin?"

"Mmm, I can't stop eating… Hm? Jigmeser, what is it?"

"That white stuff—what in the world…"

"Ah, they call it Maoines. There's not much left, but would you like a taste?"

People who already know a field are often hit harder by the unexpected. One bite of the Maoines and Jigmeser's vision swam. In an instant he grasped its true worth. From the sauces of the ancient empire to the latest continental fashions, nothing shared its character. More than that, it was a base sauce from which dozens of others could be built with nothing but simple combinations. The distinctive taste ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠might not suit every palate, yet that was beside the point. This—this was the sauce that had stolen Lady Alicia's heart!

And then he learned the truly staggering fact: the cook who had stolen the princess's palate and created Maoines was a child of barely ten. Unbelievable, yet it was reality.

"Remarkable skill for that age. The dishes I was served last time—apart from the pie—were all things I'd never seen before."

"Good gods! You mean he's a better cook than I am?!"

"Ah, no, not that. How to put it… Karem simply thinks about cooking differently."

"Differently… differently, is it."

Godwin dipped a carrot into the Maoines and praised the boy as proudly as if the achievement were his own. Long, unfamiliar strands of spaghetti. Paper-thin, crisp beet chips. An omelet puffed with clouds of meringue. Wellington steak wrapped in bread and baked. Familiar ingredients transformed into shapes no one had ever heard of. Jigmeser was awestruck—then quickly shook ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his head.

Get a grip, Jigmeser! That little brat stole the right to feed Lady Alicia until she's plump and happy. Snap out of it!

(Had Karem overheard, he would have shouted that the accusation was pure slander.)

Once the cause was known, a remedy had to be found. Fortune smiled: it was Winter-Ascend. As head chef it was only natural that he offer a sacrifice at the festival held in Winterhome. So Jigmeser bellowed,

"Eggs!"

"Sir?"

"I don't care if they're from animals or monsters—bring me every last egg in the place!"

"E-even the ones reserved for the banquet and His Grace's family?"

"Of course not those! Everything else!"

"We just received a Boreas wyvern egg the other day…"

"Bring. Them. All!!!"

He had decided to learn the enemy's techniques. Some might call it underhanded; he called it straightforward. The best way to defeat an opponent was to know him, take his methods, and surpass them.

He had long since mastered the recipe for custard pudding. The next steps were obvious: refine and improve the method, experiment with different ingredients of the same type, diversify and test variations.

The custard pudding that captivated Lady Alicia is astonishing, yet it cannot be without room for improvement—no, it cannot even be finished. Something is missing; the recipe is still incomplete!

His guess was correct. Leaving aside the lack of grandeur for a ducal table, what the pudding lacked was fragrance. Specifically, vanilla. Unfortunately Winterhome had none, so omitting it had been unavoidable. Other scents could have substituted, but Karem, still bound by memories of his previous life, had never thought of anything but vanilla.

I've tried everything, yet snow-runner eggs and plain milk still give the best result. Firefly-rose oil is perfect—just a drop, or the scent will overwhelm…

Bit by bit the experiments produced a pudding fine enough to serve anyone without shame, yet the creator himself remained unsatisfied. Something was still missing.

Texture! The texture is lacking!

No ingredient quite filled the gap. Jams were decent but too sticky. Toasted breadcrumbs gave a pleasant crunch yet left grit in the mouth. The search continued.

"Nuts aren't bad either, but once the pudding's gone the pieces still sit there looking forlorn. I need something that shatters crisp and then vanishes without a trace… There it is!"

Something that gave a clean, brittle crack between the teeth and then melted away as though it had never been: burnt sugar. Caramel.

Jigmeser decided to adapt the technique Karem himself had once demonstrated. He scattered sugar carefully, thinly and evenly across a pan, then heated it with the utmost care. The sugar soon bubbled and hissed. Before the color deepened he whisked the pan onto a leather pouch packed with ice. Ssssssss— the hot metal cooled in an instant, and the molten sugar began to crystallize exactly as he had hoped. The resulting sheet glowed a deep amber and was so translucent the far side showed faintly through it.

He broke off a piece a little smaller than his palm and laid it gently atop the rose-scented snow-runner pudding. With a tense face he lifted a small spoon and gave the candy disc a light tap. Whick—crack! The thin crystal shattered in a perfect circle, decorating the pudding. He took a spoonful of shards and pudding together, closed his eyes, and savored.

Rose fragrance rising to the nose. Soft, sweet pudding wrapping the tongue. And with every bite a crisp that vanished without a trace. Jigmeser was deeply satisfied. This should be more than enough to crush the little brat who had so casually stolen the princess and reclaim darling Alicia's attention.

"But that Maoines… No. No."

Maoines and pudding. Surely even a scoundrel like Karem, if he was a real cook, would never mix those two. The mere mental image of the taste and appearance made Jigmeser's skin crawl; he hastily erased the horrifying vision.

"All I need to do is make this pudding enormous!"

He was not wrong. Amid the countless offerings of Winter-Ascend, size alone would let the dish be seen from afar. There would be setbacks along the way, but that hardly mattered; that was why he had swept up every egg in the castle. Some would protest, yet Jigmeser paid them no mind. He possessed more than enough authority to silence such complaints, and he had carefully set aside the portions needed for his lord and the family's meals. Everything was in order. More important than any petty grumbling was the task at hand: reclaiming Lady Alicia from that little scoundrel.

The elderly dwarf head chef burned with the pure, grandfatherly resolve of an old man determined to win back his granddaughter's interest.

Meanwhile Karem, blissfully unaware that he had become the target of such unreasonable fury, found himself in an awkward situation of his own.

It began the moment he mentioned honey threads. Alicia's sense of romance simply could not accept so magnificent a creation being dismissed with so plain a name. Catherine, who took names seriously for magical, practical, and commercial reasons, of course agreed. Even Mary, whom he had thought indifferent, sided with them.

"To put it bluntly, Karem Hubae, calling a masterpiece like this 'honey threads' is frankly disrespectful, don't you think?"

"Is the name 'honey threads' really that bad?"

Everyone except Karem nodded. Catherine, still gazing regretfully at the last remaining piece Alicia had eaten, spoke.

"To someone encountering an unfamiliar food, the name is the first impression. No matter how delicious a dish may be, a poor name dulls the appetite."

"I agree with Kitty! Karem!"

"It's Catherine, not Kitty. Think about it, little one. If you called a bread pudding loaded with dried fruit 'soggy freckle bread,' who would want to eat it?"

"Uuuugh…"

Alicia hugged her arms and shuddered at the mere mental image. Karem still wanted to protest that there was nothing wrong with "honey threads," but the odds were three to one. Reluctantly he offered another name.

"Then… what about Dragon's Beard?"

"Oh, little ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one."

"W-what?"

The reaction was completely unexpected. Catherine gave him a half-lidded look and a knowing little smirk.

"So you believed dragons grow beards too? Well, you are so precocious that it's easy to forget you haven't even had your coming-of-age ceremony yet."

"…What's wrong with Dragon's Beard?!"

"Still, Dragon's Beard isn't bad. Something this thin and soft certainly does look the part…"

While Karem was being teased, Mary spoke in a stiff voice.

"Karem Hubae. Contractor. Lady Alicia has something she wishes to say."

There sat the young princess, looking as though the foundations of her world had crumbled. The girl who had just learned a hidden truth wore the expression of one whose soul had left her body.

"…Kitty. Dragons… don't grow beards?"

Unlike the two fake minors present, a genuine child was sitting at the table. Alicia's pure-hearted innocence had just been cracked, and she was not pleased about it at all.

A picture drawn by ChatGPT for us.