Chapter 50
The business trip to the west was decided sooner than expected.
Elysia said,
“Let’s go.”
I looked up from the ledger.
“Where?”
“The west.”
“Are you really coming too, my lady? Uncle Bernard, Marie, and I could go alone like last time.”
“You saw the application. The terms are good, and so is his attitude. More importantly, the western mountains have something we need. It’ll be better if I go and negotiate the contract in person.”
“What is it?”
Elysia answered as though she had been waiting for me to ask.
“Milk. Cheese. Butter. Smoked meat. Good livestock.”
I was silent for a moment.
“My lady. You’re thinking about ingredients before I am now.”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Count Klever?”
“What are you talking about? You!”
“Ah.”
The restaurant owner in the western mountains was a man named Edmund Royce.
He was not a noble, but a merchant who operated both an inn and a restaurant in a mountain city.
His family had traded with ranches that raised goats and cattle for generations, selling food to merchants, mercenaries, and local knights traveling along the mountain roads.
He had been the first to apply for an on-site consultation after attending Maison Monbel’s lecture.
He said he was tired of hearing people call his regional food rustic.
I liked that.
I liked people like him.
People who weren’t ashamed of food others called rustic, but instead wanted to polish it up and serve it proudly.
People like that were ready to learn.
It would be a problem if a restaurant run by someone like that failed.
The road to the west was quite long.
Marie kept looking miserable in the carriage.
“Why is the road so bad?”
“Because it’s a mountain road.”
“Why aren’t mountains flat?”
“Ask the mountain.”
“I hate mountains. I feel sick…”
“Please don’t throw up on me.”
Marie continued to look miserable, so I made a decision.
“Lie down.”
“Huh?”
“It’ll be faster to close your eyes and sleep than to sit up. Lie down and sleep on my thigh.”
“Really?”
“If you throw up, this carriage will become a disaster area.”
“Hehe, thanks.”
Marie quickly laid her head on my thigh.
Elysia closed her eyes when she saw that.
“Are you feeling sick too, my lady?”
“A little.”
Uncle Bernard started to say something, then stopped.
After we got past the rough mountain road, I looked out the window and saw scenery completely different from that around the capital.
The fields grew sparser, and there were more hills and rocks.
The forest grew denser, and the air was a little colder.
Low stone walls and pastures lined the road.
Far away, livestock like cattle and goats were grazing.
The smell was different too.
The smell of grass, wet earth, and animals.
And somewhere, the faint smell of smoked meat drifted toward us.
Roenheim, the western mountain city, was not a flashy place.
There were many stone houses, and the roofs were low.
Perhaps because of the strong winds, the windows were small, and many people in the streets wore cloaks.
The market was piled with dried meat, coarse bread, blocks of cheese, tubs of butter, wild-berry jam, and bundles of herbs.
Marie spoke as soon as she saw the market.
“There are lots of ingredients for staff meals.”
“Yeah.”
“We should come here often, huh?”
“Probably.”
“Then I’ll hate mountains a little less.”
“If it’s too hard for you, we can send someone else next time, or I can come alone.”
“I don’t want to send you alone.”
“It’s not as if I’m a child.”
Edmund Royce’s restaurant was near the city square.
The sign was old but clean, and a warm smell greeted us as soon as we entered.
It smelled of smoked meat, roasted bread, melted cheese, and soup that had been simmering for a long time.
It wasn’t refined, but if a hungry guest walked in, it would make their mouth water immediately.
Edmund bowed as soon as he saw us.
“Thank you for coming.”
He was a large man with thick hands.
He looked more like a ranch manager than a chef, but the undersides of his fingernails were clean.
That was a good sign.
A restaurant owner’s hands could be rough, but they couldn’t be dirty.
“First, we’d like to try the food you normally serve.”
“Do you mean the food we originally serve, rather than food changed to suit the Maison Monbel style?”
“Yes.”
Edmund’s eyes wavered slightly.
“It will be rustic.”
“That’s what we came to see.”
A little while later, food was brought to the table.
First came coarse bread and wild-berry jam.
Next was a dark, rich meat stew and goat’s-milk cheese.
For the main course, there were roasted potatoes spread thickly with smoked-meat butter.
The bread was hard, but the longer I chewed, the more strongly the grain’s aroma came through.
The stew was rich and heavy.
‘It feels like gravy reinterpreted as a stew.’
The smoked meat wasn’t tender, but it had a distinctive salty, chewy flavor.
The cheese had a strong aroma, but it wasn’t unpleasant, and the potatoes were rich with butter.
The food wasn’t refined, but every dish had a reason behind it.
Food eaten in a cold place by people who had worked all day, to fill their stomachs and warm their bodies.
Good.
This could be refined.
Marie’s eyes widened after she tasted the cheese.
“It smells strong, but it’s delicious!”
“That’s what good cheese is.”
“Do you think guests will like it if we use it?”
“Nobles will be surprised at first, but they’ll like it if it’s expensive.”
Edmund watched our reactions with a tense expression.
I set down my bowl of stew.
“You mustn’t throw these away.”
“Pardon?”
“You mustn’t throw away these foods just because they’re rustic.”
Edmund’s face stiffened slightly.
I continued.
“Serve the bread in smaller portions and keep it warm. Don’t suppress the cheese’s aroma; adjust the portion instead. Rather than reducing the salt in the smoked meat, slice it thinly. You can vary the stew’s consistency. Serve it thick as it is now to commoner guests, but for a noble course, separate the broth and the meat.”
His eyes grew wider and wider.
“Separate them?”
“Yes. Even the same food can look different if you change its structure on the plate. Cut the meat into small pieces, use the broth like a sauce, add roasted root vegetables, and grate just a little cheese over it at the end.”
Marie chattered beside me as she spooned up the stew.
“That sounds delicious.”
“Yeah. That’s the problem.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to use it too.”
Edmund was silent for a long time.
Then he quietly lowered his head.
“Are you saying we don’t need to be ashamed of our food?”
“There’s no need to be ashamed. What’s there to be ashamed of in food this delicious? But you mustn’t be lazy.”
“What do you mean by lazy?”
“Rustic and carelessly made are different things. If you serve food carelessly just because it comes from the mountains, then yes, it’s rustic. But if you understand the reasons behind it and refine it, then it becomes the flavor of the region.”
Edmund’s expression changed.
He looked as though he had just gained something.
That afternoon, I began a full kitchen consultation.
The workflow wasn’t bad, but the management was a little lacking.
The meat had been simmered for a long time, but the temperature control was inconsistent, and although the cheese was stored properly, it was cut rather roughly.
The bread was excellent, but it had gone cold because it wasn’t served at the right time.
Every time I pointed something out, Edmund wrote it all down.
Instead of taking offense, he wore a serious expression, determined to improve even one thing.
‘Someone like this has plenty of reasons to do well in business.’
That evening, we discussed the agreement.
Elysia placed a sheet of paper on the table.
“Maison Monbel wishes to establish a long-term trade relationship with Roenheim.”
Edmund straightened his posture.
“What kind of trade?”
Elysia answered calmly.
“We would like priority access to fresh milk, butter, cheese, smoked meat, and selected livestock products. In return, Maison Monbel will visit Roenheim at regular intervals to provide consultation on restaurant operations and menu development.”
I looked at the paper and felt a little impressed.
It was closer to a memorandum of mutual cooperation than a formal contract.
There was no term for MOU in this world, but that was exactly what it felt like.
It wasn’t a promise to bind everything together immediately, but an agreement to cooperate first.
“Does that mean you’ll come regularly?”
Edmund asked.
“The number of times Kyle comes in person will be limited.”
Elysia immediately drew a line.
“Maison Monbel’s operations come first. Instead, basic inspections can be conducted by staff we designate or through written documents. Kyle will come in person when an important menu revision is needed.”
“The cost…”
“We’ll need to calculate the supply prices and consulting fees together.”
Elysia’s voice was gentle, but when it came to money, there was a firmness that made it clear she had no intention of compromising.
At this point, even Count Klever or Count Rosenhart would probably do a somersault and clap with both feet if they saw her.
Edmund thought for a moment.
“I’ll have to discuss it with the ranches. But it should be possible. If we can send good milk and cheese reliably, it would be an honor for us as well.”
“Honor is all well and good.”
Elysia smiled.
“However, we’ll also need to calculate the transportation costs.”
Honor alone couldn’t balance the books, after all.
I spoke from beside her.
“I have something to learn as well.”
Edmund looked at me.
“Something to learn?”
“Western-style cooking.”
He looked surprised.
“Chef Kyle, you want to learn our cooking?”
“Yes.”
“But our food is…”
“If you’re about to call it rustic again, we’ll start over this evening.”
Edmund closed his mouth.
I continued with a smile.
“I don’t know why people in this region eat that cheese the way they do, why they cook the stew that way, or why they make the smoked meat so salty. Reading about it in a document and seeing it in a kitchen are different things. So I need to learn.”
I meant it sincerely.
To change it into the Maison Monbel style, I first had to understand the original.
If you refine something without knowing its original form, you’ll ruin it. That isn’t refinement; it’s theft.
And I had always been a student who loved learning more than anything.
Edmund slowly lowered his head.
“I’ll show you everything I know.”
“Good.”
“But in return, you’ll have to teach our cooks as well, Chef Kyle.”
“That’s expensive.”
Edmund hesitated.
Elysia nodded with an extremely satisfied expression.
“Good attitude.”
That night, we made western-style stew again in the restaurant’s large kitchen in Roenheim.
Once according to Edmund’s method, and once according to mine.
Then we found a middle ground.
Rather than cutting all the meat into smaller pieces, we left some of it in large chunks.
We didn’t thin the broth too much. Instead, we skimmed off some of the fat and saved the cheese’s aroma for the end.
Rather than simply placing the coarse bread beside the plate, we lightly toasted it and served it warm.
Marie said immediately after tasting it,
“This is good.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
“That’s not a very helpful answer.”
“No, it is. I’d want to eat the original when I was really hungry, and yours when I was paying for it.”
I looked at Marie.
“That’s an extremely good review.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. ‘This seems like it could make money’ is the alpha and omega of feedback for every restaurant.”
Edmund laughed for a long time when he heard that.
The next morning, the agreement was stamped.
Maison Monbel–Roenheim Dining Cooperation Memorandum.
The name was a little grand, but the contents were clear.
Roenheim would prioritize supplying Maison Monbel with fresh milk and livestock products, western cheese, and smoked meat.
Maison Monbel would provide regular advice and cooperate in developing Western cuisine into modern course meals that showcased its value.
Elysia folded the memorandum and said,
“It’s a good start. If the milk comes in reliably, we can expand the dessert menu as well.”
“Butter too.”
“Cheese too.”
“Meat too.”
Marie added from beside us,
“Staff meals too.”
“That’s the most important part.”
After all, people do all this to eat and make a living.