Winter-Ascend (4)
Several days had passed since then, yet the heat in Winterhome and Coldon showed no sign of fading.
After all, something that had lived only in records and legends had unfolded right before their eyes. It was only natural for the throngs of witnesses who had seen a god descend to remain flushed with excitement.
Like the particular sort of person who insisted the most delicious food had to be eaten first, the highlight of Winter-Ascend had already come and gone—but the festival itself had not. Coldon and Winterhome would keep pouring life into the dull, winter-bound days of people worn thin by stockpiling and monotony, night and day, for days after the festival officially ended.
And there was something else pouring oil on an already roaring fire.
Piyuuuuuuu—BOOM!
Puh-buh-buh-bung! Kiyuuuuuung—BANG!!!
"Dad! There's a glowing flower field blooming in the sky!"
"As expected of Duke Felwinter. To set off this many Flower ofs…"
"It's been so long since I've seen fireworks."
Flower of.
Fireworks that painted the darkened sky of Coldon in brilliant light. They rose with a sharp whistle, burst, and then burst again—petals of flame blooming large and small into a garden of fire across the night.
The product of Catherine's overtime.
Fireworks that cost a minimum of five crowns apiece flooded the darkness. Nobles often hired mages and alchemists for their own fireworks displays, of course—but comparing those to this scale would have been an insult. Nobles and power-holders alike marveled at a duke's true largesse.
The quality did not fall short of modern fireworks. In some ways it was better. Even at low probability, modern fireworks could drop burning fragments and start major fires. These never did.
All of it was the fruit of Catherine's overtime-fueled labor.
Yet Karem himself had no time to watch the five-n-crowns' worth of her work.
"Hoh. Oil, egg yolk, and a splash of vinegar… and it becomes a sauce like this?"
Because Karem was currently stuck in an impromptu cooking lesson—teaching an elderly dwarf who looked far older than him. An old dwarf, to be precise.
"Rich, greasy, with a touch of acidity. Simple flavor, though."
"Which is exactly why it makes such a perfect base for other sauces."
"Yes! Truly genius! To invent a sauce like this at your age! I suppose the creativity that comes from a young, pliable mind simply can't be helped!"
Karem offered a sheepish smile and shook his head.
"That's rather embarrassing."
"Modest for one so young! Excessive humility is impolite—you may brag a little more!"
Karem could not simply declare, as he usually would, that it was because he was a genius. Even if he clamped down on the heart that was practically seizing from residual guilt, he was not thick-skinned enough to make that claim in front of a true culinary genius. His knowledge and recipes came entirely from the overflowing information media of his previous life—specifically wikis and video sites. Beyond that, his recipe knowledge was essentially nonexistent.
It had never been proper study; it had always been a hobby. He had learned like a net or a branching tree, one thing leading to another, leaving the whole full of holes. If anyone asked how a mere hobby reached the level of professional fine dining, Karem had only one answer: he had simply thrown everything he had into enjoying his hobby.
"Well then. Can you show me a sauce that applies that mayonnaise?"
"Of course. That was the agreement from the start."
"Ingredients are unlimited—use as much as you like!"
"Then I'll need a salmon steak, please."
Jigmeser immediately began hauling over crates and baskets overflowing with every kind of ingredient. The man who had once glared at him so fiercely was now being so helpful that it was almost oppressive.
Still, one had to consider Jigmeser's position as well.
Heh heh… who would have thought the little punk—no, the human boy—I was burning with resentment toward would catch a god's eye?
Only then did cold sweat run down Jigmeser's back. To put it in perspective: the family of the chairman he already served was taking an interest, and now someone even higher than the chairman had cast a glance their way.
Once he recovered his cool, Jigmeser revised his thinking. Making an enemy was out of the question; he had no choice but to make an ally. Fortunately Karem had both skill and a decent personality. The sudden change in attitude—and the excessive kindness that was making Karem uncomfortable—all stemmed from that.
Karem sighed inwardly.
If I'd known it would come to this, I would have just refused the recommendation for the sacrificial offering… not that I could have. It came from the duke's own children, after all.
To understand how Karem had ended up in this situation, one had to rewind the clock a little.
The first day of the festival.
After the highlight ended and people were dispersing, still savoring the afterglow, Catherine—with Mary in tow—had half-dragged Karem somewhere against his will.
The place was the duke's study, which he had visited before. Karem stared blankly at Iona, who was holding his hand. The seneschal had closed his eyes, concentrating as a soft light radiated from his palm; then he shook his head and denied the very person who had arranged this meeting—Elizabeth Felwinter, Duchess of Iceland.
"My lady. I sense neither divinity nor blessing of any kind."
"Iona. Is that truly so?"
"Yes, my lady. It is clear he merely took a brief interest, exactly as it appeared."
"But why would the god…"
Elizabeth began in a small, unthinking voice and then cut herself off. Everyone present, Karem included, understood what she had been about to say.
Interest in a mere cook who was only a sacrificial offerer, not even a chosen one? Why? And not even for the dish that was offered—just for a sauce?
Godwin raised his voice, looking thoroughly frustrated.
"Mother. Karem's cooking is excellent, but above all that sauce is the real treasure! That richness and umami. The acidity that never grows tiresome!"
"Mm, I still don't quite understand."
"The richness that fills the whole mouth, and the acidity that kicks in just when you start to tire of it! It's the reason I've put on so much weight!"
"Godwin. So you finally admit you've gotten fat?"
"Of all the sauces I've ever tasted, it was my favorite."
"And you, Sir Victor?"
Elizabeth, whose palate clearly diverged from her son's, redirected the question to Victor. A man who had once soared across the entire continent in his prime would surely be able to resolve her doubts.
"Certainly I was excited as well—it was a sauce I'd never tasted before. Looking back, though, I believe it's a sauce that rather depends on personal taste."
Victor scratched his chin as he answered. Karem found himself nodding unconsciously.
Mayonnaise.
Its relatively simple ingredients made it endlessly versatile. Conversely, those same ingredients meant it was also an acquired taste. The sheer amount of oil made a certain greasiness unavoidable. Some people with sensitive noses claimed the raw egg yolk smelled fishy. Others simply disliked the peculiar acidity.
From Godwin's description, it was clearly not Elizabeth's preference. Godwin adored it; Victor said it was polarizing. Faced with the conflicting opinions, Elizabeth tilted her head, and her long light-brown hair, bound into a single silken tail, spilled over her shoulder.
When it comes to judging food, a chef's opinion is the most accurate, isn't it?
At that moment Iona rose from his seat.
"Ahem. My lady, I shall take my leave now."
"Ah, I'm sorry for calling you when you're so busy, Iona."
"Not at all, my lady. It is my pleasure."
Smiling warmly, Iona bowed, clapped Karem on the shoulder, and left the study.
"Back to the matter at hand."
Elizabeth turned her gaze to Jigmeser, who was sweating coldly and secretly observing Karem (having once unilaterally harbored a grudge and now suffering a guilty conscience).
"Jigmeser. What do you think?"
"Mm, ahem! Sir Victor, the young master, and the duchess are all correct. It's greasy at its foundation, you see. It certainly wouldn't suit the duchess's palate."
"Is that so?"
"However, in the northern countries of Europa, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who dislikes it. Those regions love greasy food so much they can't get enough of it."
Head Chef Jigmeser's words were immediately taken up and expanded upon by Victor, who served as both Godwin's escort and his watchdog. Jigmeser nodded at the extremely accurate assessment.
The entire cuisine of northern Europa was famous for its greasiness. There was no need to go as far as cold northern nations like Letherus. Cross into his own homeland, the dwarf kingdom of Eisenwalt, and he could guarantee any number of dwarves would roll their eyes in delight.
"Even so, for Tutatis himself to show interest…"
"I believe it is similar to how warriors prefer rich, meat-heavy diets. As a warrior who reached godhood by his own power, would he not have liked greasy food?"
"Ahh. That does make sense. The records say Tutatis was also quite curious, do they not?"
Elizabeth accepted Jigmeser's reasoning. Beyond the divine records themselves, she recalled how, while assisting Alfred with work, those who used force and performed hard labor had always enjoyed rich food.
"More than anything, the true strength of this mayonnaise sauce lies elsewhere."
"Like a base potion, it can transform into any number of other forms."
"Lady Atanitas is exactly right."
Garlic mayonnaise, honey mustard, thousand island—dozens of major sauces at minimum were built on a mayonnaise base. If a sauce was white or light-colored, mayonnaise was almost certainly in it.
Karem agreed inwardly, then suddenly found himself wondering something. This was the duke's study… yet the duke himself was absent?
As if kindly guessing his question, Elizabeth answered.
"He cannot leave his post while entertaining the guests. The host can hardly disappear on the very first day of the festival."
"I… see, my lady."
Indeed—one could not simply abandon a party full of guests. Even with apologies it would have been a serious breach of etiquette. That much was obvious.
So then… why am I here?
The thought was written so plainly on his face that Catherine shot him a look that clearly said, You're one to talk.
Of course Karem already knew. Everything traced back to the War God who had descended at the festival. The god had gone to the high seat unbidden—even though the mayonnaise had not been offered as a sacrifice—taken the bowl, then looked at Karem and said it was interesting, and someone at the high seat had witnessed the whole thing.
Just as Catherine had said, Karem felt more and more that a peaceful life was simply not in the cards for him.
Let's look on the bright side.
Karem at least did not consider the situation bad or disadvantageous. The tension he felt was merely his body—tempered by encounters with Alfred, Godwin, and Alicia—still adjusting to meeting yet another lofty personage.
While Karem was calming his nerves, Elizabeth spoke to Catherine.
"Atanitas. Might I borrow your cook for a certain period?"
The reason was simple.
Unless something extraordinary intervened, noble fashions always flowed from the top downward. After synthesizing Godwin and Alicia's testimony with Jigmeser's evaluation, Elizabeth had decided: this would sell.
Refusal was never an option, so Karem left the entire negotiation to Catherine. No matter how he thought about it, she would negotiate better than he could—and she was his original contract employer besides.
Elizabeth had clearly intended to negotiate with Catherine from the start; once Karem passed the baton, the talks continued seamlessly. The negotiation reached a conclusion in no time.
Catherine would receive a certain compensation, and Karem and Jigmeser would share culinary knowledge—recipes, for example—with each other.
It's good for me too.
However hard he had thrown himself into it, cooking had remained a hobby for Karem. An expert would inevitably spot the gaps, and Jigmeser made an excellent teacher. Basic technique, application, unfamiliar recipes—he was lacking in all of them. On top of that, if anything ever happened he could lean on the duke's household for backing, so it was actually a gain. At first Karem had thought positively of the arrangement.
More than anything, the teaching came with a good attitude from the teacher, and he had even received a bonus from Catherine for the extra labor outside his original contract.
But once the exchange began, Jigmeser's behavior became so fawning that Karem started to feel genuine pressure.
"Hm? Something the matter, lad? Uncomfortable?"
"Nothing at all."
Karem set his momentarily still hands moving again. Every time the knife in his grip flashed, the onion was diced finer and finer.
"Minced onion and minced pickle? And egg? Planning to make finger food?"
"No. All of it goes into the sauce."
"Boiled egg?"
"Yes."
Of course. What Karem was making right now was tartar sauce. Crush a hard-boiled egg finely into a large bowl, add the minced onion and pickle, lemon juice, mayonnaise, and a little pepper, then stir vigorously until combined—done.
With perfect timing he spooned it over the salmon steak Jigmeser had seared to a beautiful medium. The residual butter and oil still warm on the salmon made the sauce sizzle and spread before it settled and vanished into the fish.
There was no need to speak of the taste. The salmon's own oil, the crisp exterior fried in butter, the interior cooked through yet so precisely controlled that it was as tender as if steamed—and the tartar sauce binding the rich butter and salmon together.
Jigmeser closed his eyes, savored it, and then exclaimed with an excess of admiration anyone could see was overdone.
"Because the base is rich and savory, the harmony is excellent, and the acidity and texture provide the perfect accent. My judgment was right after all!"
Karem, who thoroughly agreed with the assessment itself, thought:
Everything's fine… if only we could do something about that flattery.
But it all stemmed from the anxiety of a dwarf whose own feet had gone numb with guilt. It would take time before the old dwarf's fawning, fussing, and everything else finally faded away.