Chapter 27
The alcohol problem began with a very ordinary remark.
“Do you have any wine?”
The guest that day was Viscount Bretton.
He was one of the guests whose meal request had been quite good.
He had asked me to put his family's old orchard, the arrogance of his youth, and the peace he had only barely come to understand with age into the meal.
Among all the strange meal requests sent by nobles, it was one of the rare ones worth reading.
The first plate was cold fruit and herbs.
The second was softly cooked root vegetables.
The soup was clear stock infused with the faintest aroma of roasted apples.
The main course was young lamb with a dried-fruit sauce.
Overall, it was a meal that wasn't heavy and gradually grew rounder with each course.
Viscount Bretton looked quite satisfied, too.
But in the middle of the main course, he asked naturally,
“Do you have any wine?”
The atmosphere in the parlor paused ever so slightly.
Elysia kept smiling, and Uncle Bernard didn't panic, either.
Marie glanced toward me for the briefest moment.
I stopped in the middle of washing a plate in the kitchen.
Damn. Here it came.
I went straight out to the parlor.
“We prepared this meal to flow without an alcoholic accompaniment.”
Viscount Bretton looked at me.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Today's course centers on memories of an orchard and the senses that settle with age. If we add the aroma of wine, it could blur the delicate acidity of the fruit and the lingering flavor of the roasted stock that should remain at the end.”
It sounded plausible.
It wasn't a lie.
In fact, pairing the course with just any wine would ruin it.
This meal would have suited a wine with clean acidity and a restrained aroma better than a heavy red.
The problem was that we didn't have any wine like that in proper condition.
Viscount Bretton thought for a moment, then nodded.
“That does have some merit.”
“I'll maintain that flow all the way to the end of the meal.”
“Very well. Continue.”
I bowed my head and returned to the kitchen.
Then I immediately smacked myself on the head.
‘Fuck, wine.’
Why had I only thought of this now?
No, it wasn't that I hadn't thought about it.
I knew we would need wine eventually.
It was just that, until now, every other fire had been more urgent.
We had to pay off our debts, expand the kitchen, hire people, create reservation rules, and even deal with the disaster of the Emperor coming to eat while pretending to be a commoner.
But none of those excuses worked in front of a guest.
A fine-dining restaurant without alcohol made no sense.
That didn't mean there had to be alcohol.
There were, of course, courses that were complete without wine.
A restaurant that sold courses that couldn't be complete without alcohol would be disqualified from fine dining.
But whether to leave wine out or include it had to be the kitchen's choice.
Being unable to include it because we had no money wasn't a choice. It was poverty.
And while I was willing to sell poverty as a concept, I had no intention of giving up on a plate because of poverty.
Viscount Bretton's meal ended without incident.
He was satisfied and paid the bill in full.
At the end, he even told us that the meal had been more than good enough without wine.
It was a kind thing to say.
Which made it hurt even more.
If we left out wine despite having it, that was pride.
If we left it out because we had none and the guest understood, that just rubbed salt into the chef's wounds.
That night, I spread out the ledger and ingredient list and said,
“Let's stop taking reservations for a while.”
Marie froze halfway through lifting her glass of water.
“What?”
Elysia immediately looked up, too.
“Stop taking reservations?”
“Yes.”
“But the reservations are already backed up.”
“That's why we have to stop.”
“Why?”
“We don't have any wine.”
Marie blinked.
“Because of alcohol?”
“Yeah. Because of alcohol.”
“Are we a bar?”
“No. That's why it's even more important.”
Marie looked as though she didn't understand.
I tapped the ledger with my finger.
“Guests are now paying 150 gold, 300 gold, and 500 gold or more. They write down their life stories and send them to us, then wait for their reservations while lodging in the village. When they ask about wine in the middle of a meal, we can't fail to offer them a proper choice.”
Elysia said quietly,
“What about the alcohol we have now?”
“We can use it for cooking. But it isn't good enough to serve to a guest by the bottle.”
Uncle Bernard nodded.
“Most of the bottles left in the manor's cellar are either old or poorly stored. Some were brought in during the previous baron's time, but many were sold or used as collateral.”
“Why are you only telling us this now?”
“Because until now, we weren't in a position to look for wine.”
He was right. Until recently, this house hadn't been at a stage where it could worry about wine.
We had been too busy trying to hold back our debts with the madness of charging 150 gold for a meal to spare any thought for which wine went with which course.
But now we had to think about it.
That was what it meant for a restaurant to grow.
A weakness that could be ignored yesterday became a fatal wound today.
“What if we ask House Rosenhart?”
Uncle Bernard said,
“We agreed to trade ingredients, so they should be able to supply wine as well.”
Before he had even finished speaking, a letter arrived.
Rosenhart was far too good at catching this sort of scent.
The countess seemed to have predicted that it was about time wine came up.
Considering how long it took a letter to arrive, she must have sent it several days ago, but it arrived at an uncannily perfect moment, as though she'd been eavesdropping.
The letter was written in polite language.
House Rosenhart could secure excellent wines through the southern vineyards and the merchant houses of the capital, and if Maison Monbel wished, it would give us priority in its supply.
I read the letter and remained silent for a long while.
The terms were far too good.
We could receive good wine reliably.
We had enough money now, so there was no need for me to travel a long way myself.
We could simply receive the bottles Rosenhart sent, taste them, and choose only the ones we liked.
It was convenient, and that was precisely why I didn't like it.
“No.”
Elysia looked at me.
“Why?”
“I need to inspect the wine myself to start with.”
“The wine?”
“Yes. I need to see who makes it, where it's made, and how it's stored. In a restaurant, alcohol isn't just a liquid you drink. It's a story. The moment a bottle joins a course, the guest wants to hear where that wine came from.”
Marie said cautiously,
“You want to sell that as a story, too?”
“Yeah.”
“You're really consistent.”
“You said packaging is what you call it when you charge money.”
But this time, it wasn't only about money.
I couldn't pretend I knew nothing about wine.
I, Kang Dohyun, had never been a wine expert, but as a fine-dining chef, I at least knew the basics.
Which acidity went with which sauce, which aromas heightened or killed the fishiness of seafood, and which sweetness ruined a dessert.
And because restaurants lost points if they didn't have a sommelier, I'd somehow brought one in through my connections. Considering how negligent that fucking bastard had been, it wasn't strange that I'd studied wine desperately.
The grape varieties and winemaking methods in this world would be different.
Which meant I had to see them even more directly.
Wine chosen by someone else was convenient, but it would be difficult for it to become the language of my kitchen.
Elysia thought for a moment before asking,
“Then where are you going?”
“The nearest winery first.”
“Winery?”
“A place where wine is made.”
“Ah. A vineyard.”
“Yes. We need to see the vineyards, the winery, and the cellar together.”
Uncle Bernard said,
“There's an old vineyard about half a day's journey west of Monbel territory. It was operated by the Lavel family, but I've heard its reputation hasn't been what it once was lately.”
“Is it going under?”
“It hasn't gone completely under, but apparently it has been pushed out of the supply lines to noble houses.”
I raised my head when I heard that.
“Sounds good.”
Marie immediately frowned.
“You think a place that's going under is good?”
“A completely successful place won't give us anything good. They already have major clients. On the other hand, a place that's completely ruined probably has terrible quality.”
“Then what about that place?”
“A place that's just barely going under.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because they're the most desperate, and there's still a chance their quality is usable.”
Marie said with a weary look on her face,
“You're seriously awful.”
“It's business.”
“You say that way too often.”
“Because it's a phrase you need often. Anyway, what other vineyards are around here, Uncle?”
“Since the area is famous for its grapes, there are two more vineyards besides the Lavel family's vineyard I just mentioned.”
“Let's visit all of them.”
I immediately made a plan.
We would temporarily close reservations. We would adjust the meals that had already been booked as much as possible and accept no new reservations.
We would announce that Maison Monbel was preparing to move up another level while securing its wine.
Of course, if we said that, the guests would only become more curious.
Even a closure could become anticipation if we packaged it well.
“Who's going?”
Marie asked.
“Uncle Bernard and me.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Yeah.”
Marie's expression grew strange.
“What about me?”
“You stay at the manor and...”
“I'm going, too.”
“Why?”
“The person serving has to know what wine tastes like to talk about it in front of the guests.”
She had a point.
These days, Marie explained the dishes in front of the guests.
If we began serving wine, she needed to at least be able to carry the bottle out or respond while someone explained it beside her.
Taking her along to choose the wine herself was a little early, but the sooner she learned, the better.
More than anything, Marie had strangely grown more confident since our last outing to the village.
That wasn't a bad thing.
“All right. Come with us.”
Marie's face brightened.
“Really?”
“Yeah. But this isn't a pleasure trip. We'll look at the vineyards and cellars, taste the wine, inspect the ledgers, and negotiate the prices.”
“There is wine tasting, though.”
“If that's what you're excited about, I'll leave you behind.”
“No, it isn't.”
She'd answered far too quickly. Suspicious.
Then Elysia quietly asked,
“What about me?”
“You need to stay at the manor, my lady.”
“Why?”
“There are reservations to rearrange, and you have to reply to Rosenhart. We can't leave Maison Monbel empty.”
It wasn't wrong.
But only after saying it did I notice Elysia's expression stiffen slightly.
Once again, I failed to understand right away that it resembled the expression I'd seen when we went to the village last time.
Elysia soon smiled as usual.
“All right. Have a safe trip.”
“Yes. We'll bring back something good.”
“I agree that we shouldn't rely too much on Rosenhart, either. We have to decide our restaurant's flavors ourselves.”
“Exactly.”
“But be careful. The name Maison Monbel has spread far too widely lately.”
“What could possibly happen while we're buying wine?”
I regretted saying it the moment the words left my mouth.
People usually said things like that right before something happened.
Marie already looked excited at the thought of preparing for the trip, while Uncle Bernard began gathering the necessary documents and letters of introduction.
I checked the list of alcohol left in the cellar again.
It was truly pitiful.
There were only bottles that could be used for cooking but weren't good enough to serve to guests.
I was almost ashamed that we'd pretended not to see this until now.
I picked up one of the bottles, smelled it, and set it back down.
“This won't do. I'll have to save this for when stress makes me drink straight from the bottle.”
Uncle Bernard pretended not to hear me.
The next morning, Maison Monbel temporarily closed its reservations.
The notice read:
<Maison Monbel is temporarily accepting no new reservations as we prepare better meals and the alcohol to accompany them.>
Marie read it and muttered,
“Just saying we're going to buy wine makes it sound incredibly grand.”
“That's what packaging is.”
“I know that now.”
We climbed into the carriage.
Uncle Bernard sat upright, while Marie gazed out the window in excitement.
I was rearranging the wine list and course compositions in my head.
What would go with fish?
There would be a different wine for game birds, raspberry sorbet, and seafood.
And if someday I truly created a meal worthy of the imperial family's attention, what kind of alcohol would I serve then?
We still had a long way to go.