The Emperor's Chef (3)

Late as the hour was, the kitchen of the Calius estate blazed with light all the same.

Eilenna rubbed at her eyes, losing the fight against sleep. Kang Jinwoo, sunk wholly into working out the course menu, did not so much as glance her way.

Only the day before yesterday he had thrown the french fries he had labored over straight into the trash, failure though they were, without a shred of mercy. Eilenna, who had been sure he would praise them as delicious, had taken a serious shock—and gone thoroughly sulky on him.

Hmph. How long is he planning to keep this up...

Waiting for him to come to her first, all tender, she yawned and held out as best she could. In truth Jinwoo had already apologized for discarding the fries, and had held her gently well before now. Her sulk, though, was not about that alone.

He isn't some pushover. Why is he acting like this...!

Kang Jinwoo's mysterious ability was known only to a very few. From the story she had heard after the fact, the man who was the Empire's Emperor had thought highly of that ability and promised him a great reward. And Jinwoo, like a fool, had answered him with, Please let me present my cooking to you!!

A reward. Not a punishment—a reward. Something of worth, given when a person has accomplished something valuable. That was what a reward was.

Who asks to be given work as a prize? What an idiot.

Jinwoo's common sense ran the other way. He had taken the reward in reverse and gone and made more work for himself. Now and then he would mutter to himself that this time he was really going to stop working, and every time he did, Eilenna pitied him. But a day or two of that was one thing. At this point it was a genuine illness—the kind where you die if you aren't working. Otherwise there was no way he would keep inventing jobs for himself like this.

And so she sulked. Because her partner kept doing foolish things and buying himself hardship. Because he never looked after his own body, she ended up even angrier on his behalf.

"Appetizer, an open sandwich topped with venison terrine. The soup course is French, so onion soup. The Emperor's kind of lion-like, so I'll build it around game..."

Jinwoo muttered like a man possessed, eyes hollow. Even so, his hands never stopped, trimming herbs, aromatics, and duck legs.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Honestly. Why did I have to go and fall for an idiot like that.

A man who cooked every single day even in Nuardel, and who, the moment he briefly returned to Silbaerin, went and built an entire hardtack factory. As if that were not enough, in the imperial capital he had opened a stall because he felt sorry for the students. Then he found a beer he liked and threw a fit about having to find the ultimate chicken to go with it, grilling skewers like a madman. And after all that he got caught in a terror attack and took a lethal spell straight through the heart.

Even so, Eilenna could not bring herself to stop him in earnest. Because the reason she had come to love Kang Jinwoo was precisely this side of him.

What Jinwoo truly loved was cooking. For the sake of that simple food he stayed up night after day, and walked until blisters rose on the soles of his feet, hunting ingredients. In doing so, mere food became cuisine, and cuisine became a great strength for people. Whenever he saw guests smile as they ate something delicious, Jinwoo wore a satisfied smile of his own. Watching that smile, Eilenna's heart would pound in secret too.

There had been a time when she herself had thrown everything she had into making the finest wine, heedless of fire or flood. This side of Jinwoo called back that passionate past self, and at the same time struck the flame alight in her again. Where in the world was there a woman who could dislike a man like that?

Softly—

Eilenna carefully reached a hand toward him. It was not a hand stretched out to caress his cheek. Formless mana bloomed from her fingertips and seeped into his body: the unique blessing of her house, House Liliendra. Mana that greatly aided vigor and the easing of fatigue settled into Kang Jinwoo.

Hmph. If I do at least this much, he'll finish quickly.

She still had not forgiven him for recklessly taking on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠work as he pleased. But water already spilled could not be scooped back up. Wiser, then, to help him get the thing done and over with. And... there was also the thought that if she did this, some small share of the passion he poured into cooking might be spared for her. A lovely act, truly, meant for the one she loved and no one else.

I'm going to bed first! Don't overdo it, you idiot.

Eilenna laid the full blessing on him and turned away without lingering, leaving the kitchen. The farewell she kept to herself. She did not want to disturb Jinwoo while he was concentrating.

I had stayed up late researching the menu and then slept, and yet, strangely, my body felt refreshed. A glance at the time told me I hadn't even slept that long, but I found a way to make peace with it. REM and non-REM cycle every ninety minutes, don't they? Maybe I'd just happened to land on the seam. That would explain why my head was this clear.

I went downstairs on light feet. Eilenna was still off in dreamland; the sitting room was empty of her.

Sleeps like the dead, that one.

I snorted to myself and headed for the kitchen. The cooking I had carried on until dawn was still there, preserved as I had left it. Anything that belonged in the icebox had, of course, been put away properly. I mean only what I had left out on purpose.

"Mmm... smells good."

Duck legs, well worked with garlic and shallot, thyme, Italian parsley, and juniper berries. Salt and pepper folded in generously, so the marinade had taken properly.

Unlike chicken, domestic pig, or beef cattle—animals fully tamed to the yard—the meat of creatures never domesticated carries a scent all its own. Some call it the animal's true aroma. Others call it nothing but gaminess. Each claim is half right and half wrong, and the point where the two meet is what counts as sound knowledge in a kitchen. Treat every trace of meat-scent as stink and scour it out with a vengeance, and who would bother buying lamb? You'd just eat cheap meat dipped in cumin salt. Leave the gaminess alone in the name of honoring the aroma, and anyone with a delicate stomach won't be able to bring it near their mouth.

What matters is balance. Tightrope walking.

Anyone who felt that subtle difference was all the same thing would be badly disappointed. Still, Leonik was no beggar off the street. He held a power so vast that comparing him to some conglomerate heir would be an insult to the comparison. A man like that would understand. My course, built to chase a wildness by leaning into the scent of the meat.

Mana Market.

Aside from the main of the course, none of the other dishes were the sort that demanded a great deal of time. Duck confit was different. For the finest result you had to wait a full seventy-two hours—an atrocious return on the hours invested. Which meant it had to be started well ahead, before I practiced the rest.

From the registered entry for duck, I specified duck fat and made the exchange. Had there been a product that was nothing but pure rendered duck fat, I would have bought that and been done with it, but no such thing existed in a medieval fantasy.

Tssss...

I set the yellowed duck fat into a deep wok. A cup of cold water went in with it, so there was none of that violent hiss oil makes when it flashes off.

Huh? Water into the oil? So this Kang Jinwoo was a pretend chef all along!

Someone who didn't know might well wonder exactly that. But this wasn't a flavored oil drawn from plants. It was fat rendered out of an animal, and that was what made it possible. Horse oil; lard from the pig; beef fat, suet or tallow—the world of animal fats is vast. The most common blunder when rendering them is scorching the fat with high heat before it has given up all its oil. To prevent that, you add a little cold water right at the start. It works like a primer, gently drawing out the oil hidden in the fat. The cold keeps the fat from burning easily, and in time the water evaporates on its own, leaving only pure animal fat behind.

One caution. The cold water has to go in at the start of the cooking. Are you insane, pouring water in after the fat is already hot and the oil already rendered?

That's just asking to die.

They say every safety rule is written in blood. Someone's sacrifice would firmly establish the rule that you do not pour water into hot oil.

At any rate, the duck fat mingled with the cold water and poured out a rich, butter-like oil in abundance. Before long the water had largely evaporated, and only pure duck fat remained. Into that golden liquid I dropped shallot, onion, garlic, and leek, cut in generous pieces. I let the aromatics perfume the duck fat right up to the edge of browning, then fished the vegetables out.

With that, this duck fat was reborn as a legendary cheat code—the sort of thing that could make even a plain fried egg taste like something from a fine restaurant.

"And that is not the end!"

Cook alone long enough and nonsense like that starts slipping out. I put on a suspiciously soulful variety-show narrator's voice and rinsed the marinated duck legs thoroughly in cold water. Herbs, shallot, juniper, and spices were lodged in every crevice, so carelessness was not an option. I was about to simmer them in fat for half a day, and in that time a single spice could sink into the leg louder than all the rest.

Then I called up a cute little fire spirit with Beginner Spirit Arts.

The little thing had become, where flame was concerned, an undisputed master, holding the charcoal under the chicken skewers at a perfectly even heat.

"Ah, undisputed king of gas ranges. You have arrived."

"Fwaaing, fwaaiik—!"

The pint-sized fire spirit, looking for all the world like the power source of a moving castle, burned with enthusiasm and demanded work. Cheered on by that support, I sank the freshly washed duck legs until they were submerged in the duck fat.

"Listen carefully. You've got a very important job."

"Fwaaiik—?"

"See this clock? The short hand is on the twelve right now. You have to hold the oil at temperature until it goes all the way around and comes back. Think you can do it?"

"Fwaik—! Fwaaiiik—!!"

Spirits have a thinner sense of time than humans. Fail to drive the point home like that, and things can go somewhere you never intended. Having heard me out, the fire spirit eagerly raised its flame. The moment it set to work, a faint heat rose from the oil, and slow bubbles began to climb.

I didn't even have a decent thermometer, so temperature had to be judged by feel. Fortunately, this was exactly the reaction you get between one hundred and one hundred fifteen degrees. Only then did I let out a breath and ease my mind. The rest, time would take care of.

I had fallen into a cooking trance the moment my eyes opened, and lost track of the hour entirely. It was only when I showed the fire spirit the clock that I finally noticed the time myself. Wanting a breath of air, I stepped out into the sitting room.

Eilenna, up late, sat blankly on her favorite sofa, in the middle of booting up her brain.

"Mmmnnngh..."

A sound with no meaning slipped between her lips. She couldn't even get her eyes properly open. She looked so much like a puppy only just born that I found her ridiculously cute. I slipped up behind her and wrapped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her lightly in my arms. She caught the arm around her and drew it in as if it were the most natural thing, mumbling.

"Nnngh... good morning, Jinwoo."

"Yeah. Sleep well? From the look of your face, I'd say you did."

"Mmnya... slept... well. Mmm."

She had been furious when she heard I was preparing a meal for the Emperor. Her brain, though, had not yet fully climbed out of sleep, and she didn't seem to have remembered that fact. So she nuzzled her cheek against my forearm and fussed at me the way she always did. Her soft cheek and ear tickled where they brushed me.

Hmm... it would be nice if the sulk just melted away like this.

I was turning over that idle thought when my eyes happened to drop to the floor by the sofa. Sunlight pouring through the window threw the sofa's shadow sharp and clear. And then, all at once, that shadow rippled strangely—

"Sir Kang Jinwoo, I have come to deliver His Imperial Majesty's com—"

"Kaaang—kyaaaaaah!!!"

"H-hieeeeek!!!"

The imperial shadow guard I had come to know last time through Kariel and Betz—the Shadow Corps, as I called them—burst out of nowhere. Whether Shadow Corps was the official name, I had no idea. It was just what I called them. At any rate, the Emperor's messenger popped out like something from a horror film, and Eilenna and I screamed loud enough to lift the roof off the estate.

Eilenna, still flailing her way out of sleep, got the worst of the fright. She hauled my arm in tight against her chest. The instinct of a living thing, when something sudden hits, to seize whatever is nearest to hand. Through both my palms I could feel her heartbeat hammering.

The Emperor's messenger looked at us with an embarrassed eye.

"Ah. Well. My apologies. You two are very close. In broad daylight, no less..."

"Wh—what? No, this isn't—"

"Kyaaaaah!! J-J-Jinwoo, if you touch me like that all of a sudden..."

"Eilenna, you're the one who yanked me in."

This wasn't even a B-grade rom-com. What kind of misunderstanding was this? I snatched my hands back and denied it at once. It wasn't that I disliked Eilenna. Honestly, she was soft, and... it had felt good, but I wasn't some pervert. Was I going to do that in a place this public? We hadn't even gotten that far to begin with. Embarrassing, honestly.

"M-Messenger. Next time, please just use the front door like a normal person. I'm begging you."

"My apologies. Presenting a meal to His Imperial Majesty is itself a secret, which is why I approached this way... My thinking was shortsighted."

"Ah. Yes. So what brings you?"

The Emperor's messenger apologized with genuine shame. Eilenna, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my hands withdrawn, wore a faintly regretful look, but as I said, this was not the place for that sort of thing. I cut to the point and asked his business.

"His Imperial Majesty has said the meal is to be presented in four days. Is that possible?"

"Oh, that's perfect. Let's do it."

He had said he would be in touch soon, and the word had come sooner than I expected. Four days was enough to see the duck confit through its aging for certain. I accepted the schedule gladly.

"Yes. I will convey as much. I will contact you again the day before. That time I will... visit in a comparatively ordinary fashion."

The messenger answered briefly and vanished back into the shadow the same way he had come.

Four days. In practice, though, I had three in which to practice the course.

That's enough.

Every dish was already decided in my head. All that remained was to take what I had imagined and make it real with these two hands. I felt the stir of anticipation, and a smile rose on me that showed the thrill of the challenge. Food that would startle even the Emperor of the Empire was on the verge of being born at my fingertips.