Trial Run of Crispy Porchetta
Just as the butchers had been left bewildered, Catherine found her head tilting of its own accord at the meat Karem and Mary brought back after heading out and returning.
"Pork… belly? Of all things, the cut with barely any meat on it?"
"I guarantee you, the belly is the best-tasting part of a pig."
"Hmm. I can't even begin to imagine what you're planning. Ah. Are you intending to make that bacon you mentioned last time?"
The chowder packed with fish and clams had been delicious enough on its own for Catherine. Yet Karem had insisted it would taste even better with crisply fried, crumbled bacon made from pork belly sprinkled over the top. Before he could so much as deny it, Catherine shook her head.
"No, even you would need an eternity to cure proper bacon."
"If you're that curious, you could always watch for yourse… though I suppose you can't."
Karem's gaze dropped to Catherine's hands. The Flower of that would serve as fireworks for the Winterhome festival—she had said each one had to be processed by hand with magic to keep the damage down. She had clearly been working through the nights for days already. He looked at her with a silent Still?
Wearing white gloves laced with protective magic, she continued inscribing metaphysical diagrams onto a Flower of and shook her head as though the suggestion were absurd.
"Do you have any idea how many of these five-crown pieces of flaming garbage a single fireworks show requires when you say that?"
"Uh, I wouldn't know. I've never even… seen fireworks."
For a split second he nearly admitted he had seen them in a previous life, but Catherine took the words another way and simply nodded.
"True enough. Even most nobles have their purses gutted by fireworks. And mindless repetitive work is boring beyond belief."
"Huh?"
"Since it's boring, I'll watch whatever you're preparing while I work."
"Uh… those fireworks. Aren't they dangerous if they so much as touch flame?"
"What are you fretting about?"
The luminous diagrams floating around her snapped onto a Flower of and dropped free; Catherine snatched it up at once.
"The pre-detonation stabilization was finished ages ago. Right now I'm only doing the post-detonation work. So hurry up and entertain me."
"This feels unsafe…"
"Ahem. Doubting your own employer? Insolent little thing."
That was when Mary cut in flatly.
"Karem Hubae."
"Yes?"
"How long am I supposed to keep holding this slab of meat, then?"
"Ah. Let's get to the kitchen right away."
In the end Catherine followed them all the way. She hauled an entire basket of the Flowers of she had been working on into the kitchen, claimed a whole corner for herself, and began watching every move Karem made. She often wandered into the kitchen whenever she had a free moment, yet today the objects in her hands made him all the more conscious of her presence. The more he fretted, the more she waved him off and told him not to mind her—yet that was easier said than done. Karem forced himself to ignore her, lit the oven, and focused on the pork belly.
It held less fat than the pork belly he remembered. That, at least, spared him the need to render any excess. The skin had been scraped of every hair and bristle by the butchers until it felt smooth under his fingers. Left out in the cold, dry air before butchering, the meat had already lost plenty of moisture and was in perfect condition for prep and roasting.
Porchetta. A wide slab of pork belly filled with stuffing, rolled tight, and roasted until the skin turned shatteringly crisp—essentially a smaller, more refined cousin of a whole roast. Being smaller than a full spit-roast made it no easier; cooking the interior moist while keeping the exterior crackling was fiendishly difficult. Too long and the outside burned black. Too short and the center stayed raw.
In the modern world a slightly underdone pork chop would not have been a crisis. People still claimed parasites demanded thorough cooking, but that was an old wives' tale; modern cattle and pigs were raised on controlled feed. Here, though, there was no telling what a pig might have scavenged. Against any possible mishap he would have to roast it with absolute thoroughness.
"So? When do you plan to start?"
"Could you please keep quiet while I'm concentrating?"
"Why do you think I came all the way here? Entertain me already."
"I was just about to begin anyway."
Karem reviewed the recipe buried in his memory and portioned the belly. He scored the skin in a tight lattice, then sliced the slab open wide and flat. To Mary it looked as though he were separating fat from meat.
"Karem Hubae."
"Yes?"
"You went to the trouble of bringing home a whole belly, yet you're only using the fat?"
"No. I'm going to pack it with stuffing and roll it up just like this."
Only then did Catherine grasp what he intended. A dish stuffed and roasted—his previous life had known countless rolls from every era and culture, made not only with pork but with rabbit, poultry, fish, and more. In the Seophon Kingdom, stuffing usually meant pies or whole roasts, yet similar dishes existed elsewhere, uncommon though they were. Catherine frowned, dredging up a half-forgotten memory.
"Ah, I believe I once ate something similar in Serbianus."
"Made with pork the way I'm doing it now?"
"Yes. Rabbit, monster meat—pork as well. Back then they used sliced tenderloin. Pork belly is a first for me."
"I guarantee this version will taste better."
With the pork prepped, Karem set about crushing and chopping the stuffing ingredients one after another. In his previous life he had bulked the filling with bread, but here he had no need to stretch the materials. What he did need was a sure way to kill the porky odor. He heaped up a mountain of bright green parsley, black pepper, salt, and enough garlic to make even a Korean blanch—dozens of cloves pulverized in a single furious bout. The sharp, sinus-piercing fragrance flooded the kitchen at once, and Catherine nearly had a fit.
"Eek! Wait—wait a second. You're putting in that much garlic?"
"Yes? That's how you make certain the smell is gone."
"Isn't that excessive? The reek is vibrating all the way over here!"
"Ah, once it's fried in the pork fat, stewed in its own juices, and roasted in the oven it should be fine. Probably?"
"Hey. What's with the 'probably'? You don't even sound sure!"
"Anyway, nothing beats this for killing the smell."
Under the assault of that stinging, eye-watering garlic perfume and Karem's shameless grin, Catherine hastily dropped her magic lest she make a fatal slip and clamped a handkerchief Mary offered over her nose. Magic was a delicate discipline that demanded absolute focus; if the stench shattered her concentration the result could be catastrophic. She had long thought the boy treated spices like ordinary vegetables… yet even Karem could not help himself. Other things he might compromise on, but garlic was non-negotiable—an instinct carried over from his previous life. And unlike modern pigs raised on clean feed, a medieval pig of unknown diet was bound to smell stronger; this much garlic was the least he needed to tame it.
As the stuffing came together the garlic only grew more ferocious. Catherine and Mary felt their heads swimming. Karem had often been generous with garlic before, but the quantity and intensity before them now belonged to another league entirely. Whether the two women were currently empathizing with vampires was none of his concern; he kept his attention on the pork. He spread the belly skin-side out, laid the stuffing in a broad, even layer, rolled it tightly, and bound the cylinder with kitchen twine so it would hold its shape. A final heavy coating of salt to draw out surface moisture, and the raw porchetta went straight into the fiercely heated oven.
Time slipped by until it was nearly midday. For hours on end Karem had remained crouched, eyes never leaving the oven. The tedious spectacle eventually wrung a yawn from Catherine.
"Mary. How long has it been?"
"By my reckoning, more than two or three hours. Contractor, lunchtime is almost upon us."
"I wonder when the cursed thing will ever finish. It had better not be underwhelming."
She grumbled, yet Karem had not been completely motionless the whole while. The boy who had seemed ready to shove his head into the oven moved with constant purpose—turning the porchetta, checking its color, shifting its position, basting the skin with the fat and juices that collected in the tray below, even inserting a thin tube to replenish moisture deep inside before returning it to the heat. He repeated the same careful cycle at regular intervals. There had been no spare moment to prepare Catherine's usual snacks. Without a minute-and-second timer, a single mistake in temperature could leave the center raw or the crust burnt in an instant; he had no choice. Watching that obsessive focus was like watching a dwarven smith working steel in the blaze of a forge.
At last Karem opened the oven once more, checked, and rose to his feet.
"Whew. My eyes feel ready to fall out."
"Kid. Is it finally finished?"
"Yes. This is the absolute best I can manage right now."
The result rested on the tray held in both hands. The skin wrapped around the porchetta was mottled with vivid orange-tinged deep-brown bubbles that made it look even crispier than the crackling of a perfectly roasted whole pig. When he pulled free the skewers that had held its shape, juices welled from the slits and a rich, savory pork-fat aroma billowed out. Just as Mary had said, lunchtime was almost here. Karem set the porchetta on the cutting board and brought his knife down.
A soft ssrrrk—slight resistance along the scored lines of the skin. The pale meat spiraled inward with a faint, almost invisible blush of pink, and from the green-tinged stuffing packed in every crevice rose a deep meaty fragrance utterly free of any gamey reek. He sliced a thick piece at once and set it before Catherine, who had already taken her seat at the table. She pushed the basket of Flowers of aside; Mary, quick on the uptake, brought utensils and carved.
Krrrk!
The shattering crispness traveled up the knife, through hand and arm, and rang inside her skull. For a single heartbeat Mary shuddered; a fleeting smile touched the face that was normally a blank mask. She recovered her composure almost at once. One must not make a spectacle of oneself in front of one's contractor—though of course she had already done so countless times. Paying such trifles no mind, Mary carried a neatly cut morsel straight to Catherine's lips.
Remembering the overwhelming garlic that had gone into the stuffing hours earlier, Catherine hesitated. The aroma that reached her now was blessedly mild, so she ate.
A-geuk!
Even after the bite entered her mouth the crunch still echoed through the entire kitchen. The dozens of garlic cloves had done their work; not a trace of gaminess remained. The distinctive savory depth of pork, its juices, its fat—all of it might have been cloying, yet the parsley, garlic, and pepper in the stuffing leapt forward and made the rich meat utterly enjoyable.
Krrrk! Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!
Above all, the overwhelming crispness showed no sign of fading no matter how many times she chewed, delighting both teeth and ears. The earlier grumpiness over missed snacks had vanished without a trace. When half the plate was empty, Karem suddenly realized something.
"I forgot the sauce."
"What? Sauce?"
"Yes. I had two kinds in mind."
He tapped the wire rack that had sat beneath the porchetta.
"One is a savory gravy built on these juices and fat; the other is a sweet-and-sour sauce based on apple jam and balsamic vinegar—"
"Can't you bring them out this very second?!"
Attached Material
— Porchetta —
A picture drawn by ChatGPT.