Moss Boar Meatballs with Sautéed Apples
The forest had long since left the proper hour for breakfast behind and settled into a time perfect for an early lunch.
Even though the morning meal had not yet fully settled in their stomachs, the three of them were staring at the pot and frying pan loaded with food.
The finished meatballs had been fried in oil until the very brink of burning and still sizzled where they clung to the bottom of the pot. Beside it, the sautéed apples in the frying pan had caramelized in butter over high heat, their own sugars cooked down into a thick, glossy brown.
Breakfast had been only a little while ago, yet Gordon, true to his word, attacked the food without the slightest hesitation—as if he had never eaten at all. He speared a meatball with a fork already heaped with apple sauté and began to eat.
"Oh, crispy on the outside. The way the fork goes in, too—definitely tender."
"It looked lean, so even after I minced it I still had to work in extra fat."
Karem had not tasted it yet, but he nodded in quiet satisfaction at the expected reaction.
The pure moss-boar meat he had sampled before cooking shared much with the wild boar he remembered from his previous life—the firm texture and low fat common to animals that moved a great deal. Fortunately the moss boar Gordon had taken had been thorough in its preparations; though autumn had not yet arrived it had already begun laying on winter fat, yellow and white. Without that, Karem would certainly have had to scrape the fat from the skinned hide with a knife.
In any case he turned his attention away from Gordon, who needed no coaching and was eating just fine on his own. Catherine’s appetite-laden gaze boring into the side of his face had become impossible to ignore any longer.
Gordon kept forking apple sauté and meatballs as though he meant to clear the entire pot, so Karem hurriedly portioned servings for himself and Catherine into bowls. Full or not, they at least had to taste it.
When the still-steaming meatballs were plated with a generous spoonful of apple sauté, the sharp edges of Catherine’s eyes softened a little with anticipation.
"Thank you for waiting, Lady Atanitas."
"Ha, kid. If I’d known it would turn out like this I should’ve skipped breakfast."
"If I’d had this earlier I could have made something even better."
Lacking proper ingredients he had used the salted ham he carried to make cabbage rolls, but it had been only a substitute and had never reached the flavor he wanted.
"First I want to try the meatball by itself."
"Yes, ma’am."
If you’re going to complain about substitutes, what about the missing tomatoes in the first place? Can’t be helped. Grumbling inwardly, Karem offered her a meatball.
Catherine could hold back no longer. In a motion that did not suit her age yet matched her appearance perfectly, she darted her head forward like a cat snatching prey and took the bite with startling quickness.
The moment she chewed the slightly rough piece of meatball, she froze in surprise. Through the gaps in the outer crust that had been fried crisp as if deep-fried, the juices that had pooled inside—laden with the rich, savory umami unique to meat—exploded across her entire mouth. The firm texture of wild game remained, yet because the meat had been finely minced the chewing was never unpleasant; rather, the more she worked it the more the pure flavor of the meat seemed to bloom on her tongue. She chewed thoroughly, determined not to miss a single fiber, then accepted the end of the bite with graceful regret. Plenty of meatballs still remained in the bowl Karem held.
Having finished without losing her dignity, Catherine immediately made her next demand.
"Now, this time with the apple sauté."
Karem complied without delay. While she savored the new layers of flavor spreading through her mouth, he quickly stole a taste for himself.
His earlier worry that sautéed onion alone might not be enough—that he really ought to have added garlic—proved baseless. The gamey edge of the moss boar rising from the meatballs had been tamed just enough that it could be accepted as a pleasant character rather than a flaw. In its place the deep green fragrance of the forest that had seeped from the meat itself grew stronger with every chew, leaving the mouth clean and refreshed. Even while eating fatty meat there was no greasy film; every bite felt like the perfect first bite all over again.
Karem stole a sidelong glance at Catherine. She was still lost in the taste, so he quickly assembled a bite the way he had fed her—meatball topped with apple sauté—and took it himself.
"Heh… hehe. Hehehe…"
People say a smile comes of its own accord when food is truly delicious. For the first time in a long while Karem felt the truth of that saying.
Some might wrinkle their noses at pairing cooked meat with fruit, yet East and West alike have long mixed grain and fruit without thinking twice about it. In the West fruit commonly finds its way into sauces; the same is true in the East. Grated pear in bulgogi marinade, grated apple simmered into curry, fruit tucked into kimchi to deepen the flavor—there is no reason to leave it out. Prejudice is the only real barrier. Once that prejudice is cast aside, the road of good eating opens far wider.
"It’s been ages since I had meatballs, but these are more satisfying than the ones I ate back then."
"Come to think of it, you said the ancient empire had meatballs as well?"
"Yes. A dish recreated decades ago in a restaurant in another country."
"A recipe that came down from the ancient empire…"
"Squirrel meatballs with grape sauce were rather good in their own right. Felt like something a noble house would serve."
Karem, who had been listening without much thought, suddenly rounded his eyes at the ingredient.
Squirrel? For real? The shock lasted only a moment before he forced himself to accept it. Even in ancient Rome dormice had been prized as the finest delicacy, and medieval and later Anglo-European cookbooks contained recipes for squirrel. Of course Karem himself had never tasted one, so he could only guess.
Gordon, still eating meatballs, also went wide-eyed—though for a different reason. He felt an unexpected kinship with those long-dead ancient nobles.
"Huh. So the nobility ate squirrels too?"
"They did. In the days of the ancient empire they didn’t sneer at simple techniques or at food commoners ate the way people do now. Taste mattered more than rarity, I’m told."
"Hmm. Well, squirrel’s pretty tasty in its own way."
"Squirrel flavor… hard even to imagine."
"Karem. You’re a serf’s son and you’ve never eaten squirrel? No forest near your village?"
Gordon frowned yet never stopped working his fork. Karem answered simply.
"The two humans who birthed me only ever gave me grain porridge mixed with wilted vegetables."
That was why he had slipped out of the village whenever he could, catching grasshoppers, katydids, or similar insects—and, when luck smiled, rats—to roast and make up for the missing protein. He had not particularly wanted the knowledge, but that was how he learned that rat tastes rather like rabbit.
The brief sketch of Karem’s present life hit Gordon hard enough that his appetite suddenly flagged. He finally set down his fork. Not many meatballs remained in the pot in any case.
"Damn it. I’m full enough. You finish the rest."
"Eh? Oh—if you’re giving them away I’ll take them gratefully."
Karem quickly fed another bite to Catherine, whose mouth had gone still, then peered into the pot the moment Gordon left his seat.
"Kid. How many meatballs left in there?"
"Hmm, not many."
He carried the pot over so she could see for herself. True to his word, golden-brown meatballs roughly a third the size of a grown man’s fist were clustered in the corner of the pot.
"That bowl will be plenty for me."
"I’m starting to feel full myself."
"Then will you save them for later?"
"Leave food? Lady Atanitas, that simply won’t do."
Leaving food because one was full was the mark of an amateur. A true professional big eater simply found a new flavor to keep the appetite alive.
After scooping the remaining meatballs into a bowl, Karem set the pot back on the campfire and drew a loaf of barley bread from his pack. Cutting the hardened bread cleanly was no easy task, but with a careful sawing motion he managed two even slices.
Catherine, who had been wondering what he was up to, took one look at the two pieces of barley bread and understood.
"I was wondering what you were doing—planning to sandwich the meatballs between those? It’ll be tough to chew if you just slap them in."
"That’s why I’m going to do this."
He laid the barley bread straight into the pot that was still slick with butter. Though the pot was smaller than before, it heated quickly; the moment the bread touched the hot surface the rich smell of toasted grain frying in butter burst into the air.
"Toast! Right—I’d forgotten about toast. The butter and the meat juices frying together—"
"Will double the crispiness and the savoriness."
Karem listened intently to the vigorous crackling from the bottom of the pot. The instant the sound changed he pulled the pot from the fire. Both slices of barley bread, now stuck with the reduced juices, were beautifully browned in the butter, flame-like patterns seared across their surfaces. The residual heat had softened the upper sides as well. He immediately spread apple sauté on one slice, stacked meatballs on top, and crowned them with Dain cheese. As the heat from above and below began to melt the cheese he clapped the second slice over everything and pressed firmly.
Under the downward pressure the meatballs crushed against the crisp inner face of the toast and released their juices. The melted cheese sealed the edges so the juices could not escape; instead they soaked straight into the dense bread between the layers of apple sauté.
"Ta-da. Meatball sandwich."
"Huh. Yeah… it had been so long since I’d had meatballs that I couldn’t think of anything else."
"Meat obviously belongs with bread."
Catherine, who had been wearing the languid expression of a well-fed cat, took one look at Karem’s meatball sandwich and instantly transformed into a predator eyeing fresh prey—as if everything she had already eaten had simply vanished.
Even if a stomach could reset, it doesn’t actually work that way… well.
Since he could never finish it alone anyway, Karem cut the sandwich on the diagonal and offered half to Catherine.
Crunch—
"Mmm… indeed. Why on earth didn’t I know such a simple yet delicious method?"
"A change of perspective, maybe?"
Crispy toast fried in butter laced with meat juices, sandwiching tender meatballs and near-paste apple sauté. The taste he had imagined assembled itself perfectly on the tongue.
"Fortunately there’s nothing nearby—ah! Ah! Why didn’t I think of that myself?"
"There are still meatballs and bread left, so hurry back."
"Hoo… this is another combination that just keeps disappearing into the stomach."
"Tsk. Mercenary. You should’ve shown up a little later."
And so the tasting that had seemed about to end was extended by the sandwich. The party finished packing and set out on the road again only after that second breakfast—begun as a mere sample—had finally come to a close.
Attached Materials
— Sautéed Apples —
— Meatballs —
This is a picture drawn by ChatGPT.