Chapter 32
The Rosenhart family was really fucking good at its work.
So good that you could immediately understand why they were so rich.
They hadn’t even been trading ingredients for long, but they had already started sending all sorts of things.
Southern spices, high-quality vinegar, dried seafood, sea salt, and even fruit wine that had been stored in excellent condition.
Count Camilla Rosenhart was good at squeezing people, but she was also good at keeping a deal moving.
The problem was a carriage that arrived one morning.
A large wooden crate was loaded in the back, surrounded by bands of silver-colored metal.
A small object resembling a magic stone was embedded in its side, and I could hear water flowing inside.
I tilted my head the moment I saw it.
“What is that?”
The Rosenhart merchant said proudly.
“Fresh fish from the sea, sent specially by the count.”
“Sea fish?”
“Yes. It’s alive.”
At those words, everyone in the kitchen turned toward the crate.
The merchant excitedly explained that they had put fish caught in a coastal city into a special seawater crate, then transported it with a magic stone that maintained the water’s temperature and flow.
Apparently, it was originally sent only to a few great noble houses in the capital, but the Rosenhart family had sent it to Maison Monbel on a trial basis this time.
I briefly lost my words when the crate’s lid opened.
A fish was moving in the water.
A fish resembling a sea bream.
And one resembling a flounder.
They weren’t exactly the sea bream and flounder from Earth.
The colors of their scales were slightly different, and so were the shapes of their fins.
But in broad terms, they were the same thing.
The Korean in me quietly rose to its feet.
“Why did your eyes suddenly get scary?”
Marie asked, sounding slightly uneasy.
Instead of answering, I washed my hands very thoroughly.
Then I sharpened my knife myself.
Thomas asked anxiously.
“Chef, are you going to prepare it right away?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to grill it?”
“No.”
“Steam it?”
“No.”
“Then…”
I took the fish resembling a sea bream out of the water.
Its condition was incredible.
Its flesh was firm, its eyes were clear, and there was still strength beneath its scales.
I never thought I’d see white-fleshed fish in this condition in the kitchen of an inland estate in another world.
Rosenhart was frightening, but competent.
I had to admit that.
I quickly took hold of the fish.
I bled it, scaled it, and cleaned out its innards.
I heard the people around me swallow nervously.
Preparing fish was something we did in the kitchen all the time, but the problem was what came next.
I filleted it.
Not too thinly.
The white flesh split apart along the tip of my knife.
The texture was good, and the aroma was clean.
I immediately placed a few slices on a small plate.
Marie said in a trembling voice.
“Kyle, that… isn’t cooked.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re supposed to cook it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I picked up a slice of fish and put it in my mouth.
The entire kitchen froze in an instant.
Marie swallowed a scream, and Thomas nearly dropped his knife.
The middle-aged woman in charge of odd jobs made the sign of the cross, while Uncle Bernard looked utterly shocked.
Regardless, I chewed the fish happily.
‘This is it.’
The scent of the sea wasn’t too strong, and the flesh was firm yet tender.
The sweetness rose the more I chewed.
The fat wasn’t excessive, and a faint scent like seawater lingered at the end.
It was different from the perfect sea bream or flounder sashimi at the restaurant from my previous life.
But in an inland estate kitchen in this other world, this was more than good enough.
“It’s delicious.”
When I said that, Marie shouted with an expression close to tears.
“Why are you eating that!”
“Because it’s delicious.”
“It’s raw fish!”
“Yeah.”
“What if your stomach hurts!”
“It’s in good condition. The smell is clean, and the flesh is fine.”
“How can you tell that!”
“You can tell if you try it.”
“That’s the scariest thing you’ve said!”
Thomas asked cautiously.
“Are you going to serve it to guests?”
I immediately pulled the plate toward myself.
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m going to eat this.”
Marie stared blankly at me.
“What?”
“Tell them to keep sending fish resembling sea bream and flounder. If they’re in good condition, I’ll eat them, and if their condition is questionable, we can grill them and serve them to guests.”
“You come before the guests?”
“That’s how sashimi works.”
“Sashimi? So when you told us to slice that fruit thinly last time…”
“It’s originally made with raw fish.”
Marie covered her face with her hands.
“It even has a name…”
I cut a few more slices from the remaining flesh.
The disappointing part was the sauce. We had neither soy sauce nor wasabi.
It wasn’t bad eaten plain, but it was a real shame.
‘If only we had chojang, it would be perfect.’
I immediately brought up a list of ingredients in my head.
This world had spicy root vegetables.
Their aroma was different, but there was one that stung the nose when grated.
We had vinegar, honey, red spices, and fermented bean paste, too.
They weren’t exactly the same, but I could make something similar.
“Good.”
When I muttered that, Marie took a step back.
“What are you going to do now?”
“The sauce.”
“Please cook it before you eat it.”
“Then it won’t taste good.”
That day, I ate almost an entire sea bream by myself.
Of course, I didn’t eat it completely alone. I offered Marie a very small piece, too.
She refused until the end, but eventually gave in to my insistence and her curiosity.
She put a very small piece in her mouth, then opened her eyes wide.
“Huh?”
“It’s good, right?”
“It’s strange… It’s not fishy.”
“Exactly.”
“But it’s scary.”
“Everyone feels that way at first.”
Thomas ate a slice, too. He chewed for a long while, then said quietly,
“It isn’t cooked, but it’s delicious.”
“That’s sashimi.”
Uncle Bernard didn’t eat any until the end.
It was a dignified refusal.
The problem was that another rumor spread after that day.
At first, it was the rumor that Rosenhart had sent live sea fish to Monbel.
Then came the rumor that Kyle Pratt had eaten the fish raw, without grilling or steaming it.
And a few days later, people even started saying that he was still perfectly alive after eating it.
Trust had formed in a truly pointless direction.
During one lunch, a baron asked me cautiously,
“Kyle Pratt.”
“Yes.”
“I hear you eat fish raw.”
The parlor fell silent.
I thought for a moment.
‘What should I say here?’
It’s the most direct way to experience the texture and aroma of delicate seafood.
It’s a preparation that doesn’t hide the freshness of the sea behind fire or sauce.
It’s a meal that displays both the vitality of a living creature and the precision of the knife.
Several sentences with roughly that sort of feeling came to mind.
But the baron was a man who liked hunting and duels.
The current emperor had banned dueling, so he hadn’t dueled in recent years, but apparently, during the previous emperor’s reign, he had been a madly skilled fighter who had taken down no fewer than three counts.
He was also the man who had added three glasses of whiskey at the Kitchen Table not long ago.
Talking about delicacy to someone like him would get a weak reaction.
“It’s a man’s dish.”
Marie gave a small cough behind me.
The baron’s eyes flashed.
“A man’s dish?”
“Yes. It’s food eaten without hiding behind fire or fleeing into sauce, relying only on the condition of the fish and the knife. If it’s fishy, it’s a failure. If it’s mushy, it’s a failure. If the knife work is wrong, it’s exposed immediately.”
The more I talked, the more convincing it sounded.
“And we prepare live sea fish right in front of you and eat them immediately.”
The baron’s expression changed.
It looked as though his urge to fight had begun to rise.
“Right in front of us?”
“Yes.”
“Sea fish?”
“Yes.”
“Raw?”
“Yes.”
The baron was silent for a moment before speaking.
“When can we do this?”
I thought to myself.
‘Got him.’
It had everything noblemen would like.
This would sell for an absurd amount.
That night, I wrote the name of a new course in the ledger.
<The Duel of the Sea>
Elysia frowned when she saw the name.
“That’s too direct.”
“Then what should it be?”
“The Living Sea.”
“That sounds a little poetic.”
“The Sea’s Duel?”
I looked up.
“That’s good.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Noblemen would like it.”
“Then what about the price?”
I answered without hesitation.
“600 gold.”
Marie nearly spat out the water she was drinking beside me.
“What?”
“600 gold.”
“For feeding them raw fish?”
“There’s the cost of transporting live sea fish inland, we have to borrow Rosenhart’s transportation network, there’s the special storage crate, immediate preparation, a dedicated sauce, and an optional liquor pairing. There’s no reason to charge cheaply.”
“But 600 gold…”
“The scarier it looks, the more expensive it should be.”
Elysia looked at the ledger, then slowly nodded.
“The Sea’s Duel, 600 gold.”
“Yes.”
“We could pair it with whiskey instead of wine, too.”
“It’s possible. But the aroma might be too strong for white-fleshed fish, so at first, we can pair it with a light liquor or chilled white wine, then serve a little whiskey at the end.”
“Whiskey with raw fish.”
Marie said with a horrified expression.
“Won’t the nobles die?”
“They won’t die if we control the portions.”
“That’s your standard?”
“It’s an important standard.”
For the next several days, I worked on the sauces.
A green sauce made by grating a spicy root and balancing it with vinegar and salt.
Its nose-tingling flavor wasn’t exactly the same as wasabi, but it went in the right direction.
Too much made your eyes water, while just a little brought out the sweetness of the white-fleshed fish.
The red sauce was more difficult.
I mixed fermented bean paste, vinegar, honey, red spices, and fruit juice.
It wasn’t chojang, but it became sweet, sour, and spicy.
It went better with fatty cuts or pieces with a little more bite than with white-fleshed fish.
Marie frowned as she tasted it.
“My nose hurts.”
“Use only a little of the green one.”
“The red one tastes good, but it’s a little strange.”
“That’s right.”
“Why do you say strange things are right?”
“The flavors from my hometown are generally like that.”
“Your hometown’s people must have a hard time.”
“That’s a good summary of the essence of South Korea.”
As expected, the first guests for The Sea’s Duel were the baron and two other noblemen he brought with him.
They were the sort who liked hunting, liked whiskey, and wanted to prove they weren’t afraid of new things.
Their faces held a mixture of anticipation and tension from the moment they entered.
A small preparation table had been set up in one corner of the parlor.
A silver tray, clean cloths, knives, a bowl of water, and Rosenhart’s special seawater crate.
A fish resembling a flounder moved inside the crate.
The guests’ eyes widened.
“It really is alive.”
“Yes.”
I washed my hands and picked up my knife.
“The Sea’s Duel is a meal that doesn’t hide the condition of the fish or the knife work. We don’t use fire. The sauce isn’t a place to run, either. What you’ll taste today is the flavor of flesh that has come all the way here alive from the sea.”
It sounded a little insane when I said it out loud.
But the guests liked it.
They reacted especially well to the word duel.
I began preparing the fish quickly.
I didn’t make it look more brutal than necessary, but I made sure it was clear that it was happening right in front of them.
I scaled it, filleted it, and separated the bones. The guests swallowed nervously as the knife moved along the flesh.
This course was both cooking and a performance.
And when it was a performance, you could charge more.
The white flesh was placed on the plate.
Thin slices, slightly thicker slices, chewy portions, tender portions, and even the fins.
I served green and red sauces, salt, and vegetables with a very faint vinegar aroma as accompaniments.
The first guest picked up a slice and added just a little green sauce.
His eyes widened as soon as he tasted it.
“It’s cold.”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t fishy.”
“Because it’s in good condition.”
He ate another slice.
This time, he used the red sauce.
“This is… fierce.”
“Because it’s a man’s dish.”
The other two noblemen laughed at that.
Their hands didn’t stop even as they laughed.
Soon, the plate was empty.
And as expected, they ordered whiskey.
The nobles who ate white-fleshed fish and then swallowed a mouthful of strong liquor at the end looked as though they had just finished some profoundly primal and dangerous meal.
“Would you care for some spicy fish stew as well?”
“What’s spicy fish stew?”
“It’s a dish made by putting the remnants of the duel into a hot, manly sauce and turning them into soup.”
“Sounds good. Give us three bowls.”
The bill was dangerous, too.
600 gold per person, plus the additional liquor, sauce, and spicy fish stew charges.
In the end, they had spent enough to slap a duke’s course in the face.
Marie stared blankly at the ledger.
“They ate raw fish and paid that much?”
“Yeah.”
“Nobles are really strange.”
“They are.”
“But we made a lot of money.”
“That’s true, too.”
The rumor grew even larger.
Maison Monbel had a course where live sea fish were cut up and eaten right in front of you.
It was a man’s dish that used no fire.
It was a dangerous meal where everything failed if the knife work was wrong.
The green sauce brought tears to your eyes, and the red sauce struck your tongue.
And the grain liquor you drank at the end burned your throat.
Most of it was exaggerated.
But in business, exaggeration was sometimes stronger than an explanation.
I sent a letter to Count Rosenhart’s family.
Please send live sea fish regularly.
Sea bream and flounder varieties would be preferred.
If the condition is poor, we’ll return them, but if they’re in good condition, we’ll pay a fair price.
At the end, I wrote this.
We do not compromise on freshness.
After sending the letter, I ate a slice of fish I had left in one corner of the kitchen.
It was delicious, as expected.
Marie sighed as she watched me.
“You’re eating it again?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re just eating the fish you charge guests 600 gold for?”
“This one’s mine.”
“You’re shameless.”
“It’s a chef’s privilege.”
“By the way, where did you learn to prepare live fish?”
“My mother.”
“Huh? Really?”
“My mother ran a sashimi restaurant.”
Oh, had I never mentioned that? I’m the son of a sashimi restaurant owner.
There’s always a reason a Western-style chef knows how to slice sashimi properly.