Better Than Sweetness: Even More Sweetness (2)

By the time I got back to the manor, the sun was already sinking low.

Dinner's going to run a little late...

I left the wine Eilenna had given me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in my room and headed straight for the dining hall kitchen. Strictly speaking, I was a guest of the Sildiel family—a boarder at their table—so there was no real need for me to keep cooking. But if I wasn't cooking, I had nothing else to do. And if I didn't, I'd have to eat that so-called elf cuisine myself.

Spare me that, at least...

Motivation firmly renewed, I stepped into the kitchen, and six elves were there to meet me.

"Hello, Chef!"

"Mm-hm. Yeah, yeah."

Chop-chop-chop—! Sizzle—!

The elves were hard at work prepping the ingredients for today's menu. Onions, eggplant, tomatoes, zucchini, and the rest came apart under their knives with a certain neatness. It had only been a few days, but compared with the beginning, the knife work was almost something you could bear to watch.

Thanks to them, I no longer had to take on every dish myself. And since I'd be leaving Nuardel soon, it wouldn't do for them to grow entirely dependent on me. Teach them to fish. Just handing over the fish doesn't last.

So these were the six culinary apprentice elves I'd picked. Elves who had a passion for cooking and no idea how to go about it—or, more often, elves who had tasted my food, been deeply moved, and volunteered.

"Jinwoo, you're here!"

"Iseria. In the kitchen, it's Chef."

"Ah. Sorry—I mean... I'm sorry, Chef!"

Iseria was one of the six. She hadn't cooked a day in her life, and I'd been sure she had no interest at all. Unexpectedly, the moment she heard I was recruiting apprentice elves, she applied on the spot. Curious, I'd asked her why.

"Th-that's just—! I can take an interest in cooking too, can't I? What's so weird about it?"

Damn it. She's right, so I can't argue.

Living alongside me, she seemed to have picked up a taste for the work. By human standards she might look otherwise, but from an elf's point of view Iseria was a new adult, just stepping out into the world—still at the age when she hadn't decided what she liked, or what she would make her trade. Being shaped by the people around her was only natural.

Setting all of that aside, I was personally in favor of her learning to cook. She was going to live several times longer than I would. Was she really meant to spend that long stretch of years on nothing but pale, watery vegetable stew and Elskit hard as a rock?

If it comes to that, I'd rather just...

Hey. Hey. Hey. I'd better stop the thought right there.

Anyway, the point was that learning it couldn't hurt.

Tonight's dinner was ratatouille, toasted bread, and zucchini risotto. Tomatoes are a fine ingredient, but elves have preferences of their own, so as usual I'd prepared two dishes: one tomato-based, and one that wasn't.

Ratatouille isn't a difficult menu. Toasted bread... if you can't manage that, you're out of my kitchen. These brats. Which meant the thing I really needed to watch was the zucchini risotto. The zucchini cream had to be made separately, and risotto itself is a fairly high-difficulty dish. Still, I'd taught them properly last time. It ought to be all right.

I walked over to the elf diligently sautéing the risotto rice. You don't dump the stock in all at once. You add it a ladle at a time and let it reduce as you go, so the starch comes out properly...

Glug-glug-glug—!

Our Elf No. 1 apparently had no memory of ever learning that.

"Hey!!! What do you think you're doing, pouring the stock in all at once!! A ladle at a time, I said—a ladle at a time!!!!"

"Eek! I—I'm sorry, Cheff!"

Trickle...

Startled by my shout, Elf No. 1 flailed, then tipped the pot toward the drain beside him and poured out water that had already fused with the risotto, every bit of flavor dissolved into it.

Oh, for the love of—this lunatic...

"Why would you throw out stock that's already soaked up all the umami!!!! You crazy pointy-eared idiot!!"

"Th-that's a mean thing to say..."

"What's mean is your memory, forgetting what I clearly taught you!!!"

"Eek..."

A kitchen is full of sharp tools, and the fire never stops burning. The chance of a dangerous accident is extremely high, which is why kitchens run on raised voices. Some people call it abuse, but a human only snaps to attention after hearing a sharp word. Elves were no different.

"I'll do it again, Chef! I'm sorry!"

"Good. I'll come back and check in a bit. Medium-low, one ladle at a time. Got it?"

"Yes, Cheff!"

The other elves on risotto duty, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠having watched Elf No. 1 get thoroughly dressed down, straightened their own discipline and kept sautéing.

Next I needed to check the sauce for the zucchini risotto—the zucchini cream. Underripe zucchini can come out bitter and grassy, so it has to be cooked until a spoon mashes it soft. I went over to the elf in charge.

She had already finished every step. The zucchini was ground smooth, a proper cream.

"Ahem! I cooked it perfectly, Chef!"

"Oh, did you?"

Well... easier than risotto, but zucchini cream uses extremely simple ingredients. A little onion, some herbs, and a great deal of zucchini. That's it. It's called cream because the texture is like cream, not because any dairy goes into it. And because the ingredients are that simple, even a hint of muddiness shows.

The woman in charge of the zucchini cream stood there in her apron, brimming with confidence.

Gulp.

I lifted a little of the cream on a spoon and tasted it. Drew in a long breath. And then I shouted.

"The zucchini cream you made is so grassy the World Tree itself could probably bring it back to life!!!!"

"Eeeeeek...!"

I had clearly told them that if they didn't cook it through before grinding, the grassiness and the bitterness would stay. This cream reeked of freshly torn lawn, and that particular bitter note vegetables have was ringing through it. She had obviously ground the lot without ever checking whether it was properly cooked.

"Eek. Chef is terrifying."

"How can he say something so anti-elf..."

The other apprentices, overhearing my scolding, were aghast. The woman who had taken my venom head-on...

"Ugh... sniff..."

"What are you crying for, like you did something right! Make it again. Check that a spoon mashes it easily, and then grind it!"

"Yes, Chef..."

The scolding must have hit hard. A tear or two slipping down her face, she started the zucchini cream over.

This is all for your own good.

If you don't learn a thing properly the first time, you can't use it anywhere. Learn it halfway and you'll regret it, guaranteed.

I glanced at Iseria. She didn't even notice my gaze, toasting bread while she cooked the ratatouille. Maybe because she'd watched me work a fair amount, her form was the best of any elf in the kitchen.

Well. It won't happen overnight.

Give them time to practice, and by the time I left they ought to be able to make something delicious.

"Dinner service is almost here! Move, move!"

"Yes, Chef!"

And so, somehow, we got through tonight's dinner as well. Once everyone had clocked out, I was left alone in the kitchen at night.

All right. Time to make it.

The peach tart I'd thought up on the way home. Make it tonight, hold it cold with an ice spirit, and take it over tomorrow.

Mana Market.

I opened it to trade for the ingredients I'd already settled on.

The dessert I was making tonight, a peach tart, called for low-gluten cake flour. Less gluten would give me a tart crust crisp on the outside and tender within. I hadn't let the raw dough proof and rise. Quite the opposite—this was a pastry you weighed down with pressing stones while it baked, so it wouldn't puff. No need for yeast, then.

I looked the registered goods over this way and that, and traded for every ingredient I needed.

Whoosh—!

Oof. Dizzier than last time.

Maybe because baking takes so many ingredients. It felt like half my mana had drained out in a single go. Eh, whatever. It would all come back once I slept and woke.

First things first: the tart dough, since that took the longest. I dropped two soft mounds of butter into a large bowl and worked them with a spatula. Every lump had to be beaten out so the butter would melt evenly into the dough.

Squish—! Smack—!

Ooh. ASMR.

The butter coming apart with that sticky sound could put any ASMR video to shame. A whisk would have finished it in no time, but a spatula meant it took a while. Once the butter spread as smoothly as cream, I added the powdered sugar.

Soft, soft—

The sugar had to be sprinkled in gently, too, so it wouldn't clump. A sieve would have made it easier...

Ugh. Elf country.

I mixed the butter and powdered sugar thoroughly, then added two egg yolks and my first little twist: a small measure of rosemary extract. Ordinarily you'd use what they call vanilla extract, but I still hadn't found any in this world. So I'd aimed the recipe at fragrant, bright, and sweet. The rosemary would carry the fragrance.

Fold in the cake flour after that, mix until not a lump remains, and before you know it you have that stiff, sleek dough peculiar to a butter base. I pressed the finished dough into the tart mold and spread it flat.

Press. Press.

The manor kitchen hadn't had a tart mold, either. So I'd simply taken a tray we used for bread down to the forge and asked them to shape it. I still couldn't forget the way that elf blacksmith had looked at me, as if I were a madman.

Even so, the result shall be glorious.

I put the tart dough straight into the refrigerator. Leave it there for two hours or more to set its shape, and that part was done. Truth be told, once the dough was finished, the rest went quickly.

I took out the two peaches I'd brought back from Eilenna's house, scored them lightly, blanched them in boiling water, and shocked them in cold water at once. Tender fruits—tomatoes among them—can almost all be peeled easily this way. I cut the prepared peaches into small cubes. Not a mince. Just small enough that you'd still feel the texture.

They were already sweet, between the World Tree's vitality and Eilenna's gift. I tossed them with sugar and a little lemon juice.

Fold, fold—

Those would rest in the refrigerator along with the raw tart shell. Only one thing left now: the lemon custard cream. It needed a bit of technique, but it didn't take long.

First I brought butter, lemon juice, and lemon zest to a boil once. In another bowl I mixed sugar, three egg yolks, and a small amount of flour into a custard base. Then I poured that base into the lemon butter I'd just boiled, set it over low heat, and stirred for all I was worth.

Now!

That's when it takes on the body of the sweet, billowy custard cream people usually eat. Move the cream into a bowl right then and chill it, and you're done.

Two hours later I'd take out the raw shell and give it a first bake, weighed down with rice or beans so the dough wouldn't puff. Let it cool, bake it a second time, cool it again... spread the lemon custard over the top and bake it once more...?

Baking really is alchemy...

There's a running joke in the food world that baking is alchemy. Miss the measure by a hair and the dough answers, Oh, ten extra grams? Guess I won't rise. Bake a little too long or not quite long enough and it says, You baked me wrong? I'll just die. Leave out a single aromatic and it informs you, Skipped one, did you? I'll taste awful, then. That kind of deranged fussiness is why people say it might as well be alchemy. Every time I bake, I feel the truth of it in my bones.

What a hassle. Still, I'd put this much work into it, so the flavor had better be outrageous.

The night deepened while I waited for the dough to rest. I put every ingredient together according to the recipe and finished the tart.

Eilenna, direct hit...

Come tomorrow morning, I'd make it so she couldn't get her wine down without this. Ugh. I'm beat.

I stored the finished tart in the refrigerator and dropped into sleep as if I'd collapsed.

Eilenna Liliendra had barely slept. The reason was none other than the human chef who had appeared without warning the day before. Kang Jinwoo.

At first she had been deep in her brewing when he showed up out of nowhere, and irritation had surged through her. She couldn't withstand Elioren's persuasion, though, and in the end she'd had no choice but to give him the tour.

The human, Kang Jinwoo, was not the person she had expected. Humans were a short-lived race, so she had assumed their knowledge would be just as short. Instead he had launched straight into questions about climate, rainfall, and hours of sunlight, digging into how she grew her fruit. And then he had flown into a rage because she hadn't kept to the traditional methods of brewing.

Pfft. What an idiot.

Meeting the morning sunlight in a daze, Eilenna let a laugh slip out, alone. She thought him a fool, and yet he was precisely the sort of person she had wanted. If anyone was truly the fool, it was Eilenna herself. She made good wine only because of the World Tree and a gift she had been born with. Kang Jinwoo must have learned all of that knowledge by running into it himself.

Yesterday, thrown by the depth of that knowledge, she hadn't even been able to speak properly. Except at the very end, before they parted, when she had honestly given him what she truly felt.

When he tasted my wine, his face looked strangely sad.

What had that expression really meant? The praise—that it was delicious—had felt entirely sincere.

Could it have been... the food I paired with it?

Wine is not merely a drink set beside a meal. Depending on the moment, it can hold a potential that surpasses the food itself. If he was a chef, it was entirely possible he had worn that look because the accompaniment disappointed him. Or perhaps, because she herself could not eat cheese, he had simply felt sorry for her.

No. That can't be it.

Hair the fresh yellow-green of green grapes. Lake-blue eyes that could stand beside the eternal snow of the Kalian Mountain Range. Add to that the particular beauty of an elf, and Eilenna was, objectively, astonishingly lovely. She herself did not think so. She was a woman who had spent her whole life sunk in crops and wine. And though in truth she was only shy, a forceful way of speaking came out of her before she knew ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. Together with her tall, striking figure, it all produced an even fiercer air.

And so she had grown used to being alone.

When will he come again...?

No. She had been used to it. It had only been half a day, and already she had taken an interest in the man called Kang Jinwoo. A wait with no promised hour. Thinking she might as well make wine in the meantime, Eilenna rose from her seat.

That was when it came.

Bang. Bang. Bang—!

Someone was pounding on the door from the morning onward, hard enough to break it. The situation felt faintly familiar, but Eilenna didn't think too deeply about it. Most of the neighbors who came to fetch her pounded as if they meant to smash the door. It would be one of them again.

She threw the door open the way she always did.

"Ah. Hello, Lady Eilenna."

"Uh... uh?!"

But the person standing in the doorway ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was Kang Jinwoo. The very culprit who had kept her up all night and left her sunk in thought until morning.

Eeeeeek...

Eilenna's face flushed as red as a ripe peach.