Chapter 12
The first plate was served.
Two thinly sliced pieces of fruit, dawn herbs, and a single drop of raspberry vinegar.
It disappeared in a single bite.
Even I felt a slight twinge of conscience over the portion.
The white space on the plate was so expansive that anyone seeing it for the first time might ask whether the chef had stopped halfway through plating.
But that empty space was our weapon today.
It had to look not as though it was empty because we couldn't fill it, but as though we'd seated the guest's imagination in the space we'd left vacant.
Of course, if I said something like that aloud, I'd be a swindler; if the marchioness felt it herself, it was art.
I watched the parlor through the crack in the kitchen door.
Marquis Reinfeld raised his eyebrows slightly when he saw the plate.
He wasn't openly displeased, but there was no mistaking his reaction: it was far too small to call a meal.
The marchioness, on the other hand, was a little different.
As soon as she received the plate, she didn't immediately pick up her fork. Instead, she slowly surveyed the empty space on the plate, the texture of the fruit, and the placement of the herbs.
Good. She was looking.
Guests who looked before eating were troublesome, but once properly hooked, they kept their wallets open for a long time.
Marie opened her mouth as she'd practiced.
“These are the first fruits brought in from the dawn market, accompanied by the fragrance of the herb garden behind the manor. This first bite asks whether Monbel's name, which everyone believes has ended, can still awaken in the mouth.”
When she finished, the marchioness smiled very slightly.
“Interesting. I've never seen food served as a question before.”
The marquis looked down at the plate and said,
“Judging by the portion, it will disappear before we hear the answer.”
“Some questions linger longer for that very reason.”
Elysia replied.
I applauded inwardly from the kitchen.
Someone who had been ready to die if she failed at the gambling house was now trading witticisms with the marquis and marchioness about food being a question.
If you're asking whether people can grow this quickly, the answer is yes.
But it requires the compressed pressure of a family's bankruptcy, suicidal impulses, and 150 gold in first-day sales.
It's a rather intense upbringing.
The marchioness put the fruit in her mouth.
Her expression didn't change at once.
Instead, her pupils moved almost imperceptibly.
Her eyes followed the moment when the fragrance came first, the acidity of the raspberry vinegar touched the tip of her tongue, and the fruit's sweetness vanished a moment later.
The marquis ate a little later.
Then he immediately looked down at his plate again.
“Is that all?”
Marie froze for a moment.
I clenched my teeth in the kitchen.
We couldn't panic here. It was only natural for a guest to ask about the portion.
Noblemen, especially, instinctively grew uneasy when a plate was empty.
Not because they were hungry, but because they felt as if they'd been given less for their money.
Elysia smiled softly.
“Because it's the beginning. Today's meal is less about filling your stomach than about opening your senses.”
“Opening the senses.”
The marquis smiled, but it wasn't a mocking smile.
“I think I understand a little better why Klever said what he did.”
Good. We'd only reached the first bite, and Count Klever's name had already come up.
The rumor was coming alive again on the plate.
I prepared the second plate.
I placed a very small amount of black sturgeon roe atop a little goat's-milk cream, with thinly toasted bread on the side.
I wanted to call it caviar, but no one in this world knew that name.
But if I called it fish eggs, the price would die.
Sometimes a name matters more than flavor.
Especially before anyone has tasted it, it's almost everything.
“Marie, just give this one a brief explanation.”
“All right.”
Marie carried the plate out and explained calmly.
“Goat's-milk cream and black fish eggs. Beneath a name everyone thought dead, we've placed seeds that have yet to burst.”
The marchioness's eyes sparkled.
“Seeds.”
This time, too, she smelled it first, then scooped up the cream and roe together with a tiny piece of bread and put it in her mouth.
The salty roe burst, the goat's-milk cream rounded off its fishy aftertaste, and the crispness of the toasted bread followed behind. The portion was small, but it had to leave an impression.
The marchioness slowly nodded.
“This is good.”
The marquis was silent for a moment after tasting it, too.
He had the look of a man who didn't want to admit he'd been impressed by a few fish eggs.
I knew the feeling.
In my previous life, I'd often seen people ask, “Why is this so expensive?” the first time they ate caviar, then fall silent at the second spoonful.
An expensive flavor sometimes persuades one's pride before it persuades one's tongue.
Now came the soup in question.
I took out the bowls I'd warmed.
The broth was red, but not cloudy.
A thin layer of oil seasoned with toasted spices floated on the clear stock, while shredded game-bird meat and root vegetables lay submerged below.
It looked restrained on the surface, but the fragrance had to rise when the spoon entered.
It wasn't yukgaejang.
But it was a soup that carried the shadow of the yukgaejang in my memories.
Broth that warmed you from within, a taste that slightly straightened your spine after eating it, food that didn't merely set your mouth on fire but left heat inside you.
It would be an unfamiliar experience for the nobles of this world.
It had to be unfamiliar for it to make money.
I checked the aroma one last time and nodded.
“Uncle Bernard.”
“Yes.”
“Please take this one out yourself. Keep your voice low, but don't frighten them too much.”
“Is this a dish that should frighten them?”
“A little.”
Uncle Bernard didn't ask anything else.
He was getting used to my strange instructions.
A good sign.
Kitchens and dining rooms run on trust.
Of course, most of that trust came from the desperate resolve to make it through today.
As the soup went out, the atmosphere in the parlor changed.
The cheese, fruit, and sturgeon roe had all been cold dishes.
Plates meant to awaken the guest's eyes and tongue.
But soup was different.
Warm food lowered a person's defenses.
Even a cold guest became human for a moment after swallowing warm broth.
Uncle Bernard said in a low voice,
“A clear soup of game bird, root vegetables, and red spices. It holds the heat still remaining beneath the ashes of Monbel, which everyone had thought had gone cold.”
The marchioness's fan stopped.
The marquis gazed at the bowl before saying,
“The aroma is strong.”
Elysia answered.
“It won't be strong from the start. It comes to you a little later, after you swallow.”
The marquis laughed at that.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It's closer to an invitation.”
The marquis picked up his spoon first.
He scooped up a little broth and put it in his mouth.
At first, there was no particular reaction.
Then, about two beats later, his eyebrows rose ever so slightly.
There it was.
The heat had risen late.
Instead of reaching for water, the marquis took another spoonful.
This time, he ate it with the shredded game-bird meat and root vegetables.
It wasn't a rich meat flavor, but the broth carried the meat along.
The sharp heat traveled down below his throat, leaving the stock's sweetness behind.
The marchioness tasted the soup as well.
After swallowing a spoonful, she closed her eyes for a moment.
It was similar to Count Klever's reaction.
Good food made people quiet for a moment.
Especially when the flavor was unexpected.
The body reacted before the mind could understand.
The marchioness opened her eyes and said,
“It's warm.”
Elysia answered quietly,
“Yes. We only learned that today ourselves.”
Those words weren't part of the script.
I watched Elysia through the crack in the door.
She was looking at the marchioness, but her eyes seemed to be focused somewhere else.
Perhaps she was remembering herself laughing at the three gold coins last night.
Perhaps she was thinking of the moment her desire to go die had shifted, just slightly, because of money, food, and a strange chef.
The marchioness seemed to realize the meaning beneath those words.
“Miss Monbel.”
“Yes, Marchioness.”
“Count Klever said he ate downfall, didn't he?”
“That's how I described it to him.”
“Then what are we eating?”
Elysia fell silent for a moment.
I cried out silently inside.
‘My lady, hit this one out of the park. If you do, the 300 gold won't feel wasted.’
Elysia smiled very slowly.
“The body heat of something that isn't dead yet.”
The parlor fell silent.
I bit my lip in the kitchen.
Good.
That was exactly the sort of thing the nobles of this world liked.
And it fit today's soup perfectly.
Heat beneath the ashes, the body heat of something not yet dead.
The wording was exaggerated, but the soup supported it.
The marchioness looked at Elysia in silence for a moment, then smiled slowly.
“I like it.”
The marquis gave a low laugh.
“I thought I would find it tiring to have so many words attached to a meal, but strangely, I'm curious about the next plate.”
That was enough.
Once a guest became curious about the next plate, the course was alive.
I turned back toward the kitchen and began preparing the main course.
The game birds had already been cooked at a low temperature, and their skin had to be crisped at the very end.
The sauce had to echo the red spice from the soup, but be much gentler.
If the soup had warmed their bodies, the main course had to hold on to that heat.
Marie came up beside me and asked in a small voice,
“Did it go well?”
“Yeah.”
“How well?”
“The marchioness has just started getting ready to pay for her feelings.”
“How do you know?”
“Her eyes changed.”
“Scary.”
“She's a good customer.”
“That's a good thing?”
I answered as I poured hot oil over the game bird's skin.
“People who pay to be frightened are the best.”
Outside, the marquis and marchioness were slowly finishing the remaining soup.
Today's two-person table was somehow moving along.
There were still plates to come, dishes would pile up, and Marie would probably cry at least once before the meal was over.
But at least in this moment, inside Monbel's old parlor, the noble couple was following the story we'd woven.
That alone was enough.
I placed the game bird on a plate and muttered softly,
“Good. Now the main course goes out.”