I Had a Big Dream

Upon hearing the Northern Grand Duke's applause, I felt a little relieved.

It wasn't applause given out of courtesy; it was applause because the food was genuinely delicious.

It was slow and weighty, but not at all perfunctory.

But my relief lasted only a moment.

Just because the first dish had worked didn't mean the entire course would succeed.

I picked up the pan again and thought,

‘I shouldn't call this authentic Chinese cuisine.’

I wondered how the countless veterans of Chinese cuisine from my previous life would react if they saw this.

They'd probably laugh heartily.

And after laughing, they'd probably bring a wok down on my head.

“Hey, you punk. You call that Chinese cuisine? That's the level of a neighborhood Chinese restaurant!” they'd say.

I admit it.

What I was doing now wasn't authentic.

I wasn't someone who had spent his entire life wielding a wok in a Chinese kitchen.

Compared to those people, I was still far behind in the rhythm of wielding a pan, the feel for moving ingredients over a flame, and the depth with which I handled sauces and spices.

No matter how much I practiced while clinging to the memories of my previous life, I couldn't catch up overnight with the hands of people who had walked the same path for decades.

So I had to change direction.

I wasn't trying to recreate Chinese cuisine exactly as it was.

I borrowed its grammar.

I briefly sealed the ingredients' surfaces over high heat, released the aromas into the oil first, then coated everything with sauce at the end to add gloss and umami.

I didn't let the vegetables go limp, and I sliced the meat thinly to cook it quickly.

But I reorganized the composition of the dishes and the flow of the course according to the Western style I was familiar with.

The guest hadn't come to a Chinese restaurant. He had come to Maison Monbel.

So this wasn't Chinese cuisine, but a course based on Chinese cuisine and reinterpreted through Maison Monbel's understanding of it.

The second dish was fish.

I had thinly filleted the white-fleshed fish I received from Rosenhart and cooked only the surface for a very short time.

I put ginger in the oil first to draw out its aroma.

Then I lightly thinned a sauce made by reducing oysters and shellfish.

If it was too strong, it would overwhelm the fish.

I wanted to show the flavor of fire, not drown the seafood in salty sauce.

A flame briefly flared in the pan, then vanished.

At that moment, the Northern Grand Duke beyond the glass leaned forward slightly.

He was already trying to understand the intention behind the course before the dish even went out.

Ordinary nobles usually looked only at the finished plate.

But that man was watching when I added the sauce, why I basted the fish with oil instead of flipping it, and why I raised the flames high before immediately dousing them.

What a troublesome guest.

In a good way.

When the plate went out, the Northern Grand Duke took a bite of fish and narrowed his eyes.

“Quieter than the first dish.”

“It's a dish built around fire, but that doesn't mean it has to shout that it's delicious.”

When I answered from inside the glass, he let out a low laugh.

“I like that. The fires of the North are like that sometimes too. In a blizzard, a small fire that burns through the night without going out can save more lives than one blazing brightly.”

That man had a way with words.

He looked like a bear, but spoke like a poet.

The Grand Duke's son seemed quietly relieved by his father's reaction.

But he soon tasted his own dish and wore a surprised expression.

Apparently, the food suited his palate much better than he had expected.

“The aroma is strong, but it's gentler on the palate than I expected.”

“Even when using a strong cooking method, the guest shouldn't be worn out by it.”

Marie took over the explanation.

“This course is centered on fire, but we've prepared each dish so that you can experience a different intensity of it. If the previous dish showed you the flames, this one shows you the afterglow left by the heat.”

Marie now guided the flow of the meal even without me saying anything.

She explained things enough for the guests to understand, while taking care not to become overly poetic.

Watching her, I thought for a moment.

Maison Monbel was no longer a restaurant I was building alone.

Of course, that thought was cut short by the next dish before I could indulge in sentiment.

The third dish was meat.

I couldn't serve the Northern Grand Duke only light meat dishes.

Looking at his size and bearing, serving him nothing but tender veal felt almost discourteous.

So I thinly sliced a tough cut I'd selected at the slaughterhouse the day before.

It was a cut that had to be simmered for a long time to make it tender, but slicing it thin and driving it hard over high heat produced an entirely different texture.

The problem was controlling the fire.

A moment too late and it became tough; a moment too soon and the off odor remained.

I heated the pan, put spices into the oil, and immediately removed them.

‘Leave just a hint of the aroma.’

The moment I added the meat, a sharp sizzle burst out.

I twisted my wrist to spread the meat across the pan, then briefly set it alight.

This time, I let the flames rise a little higher.

A small gasp rose from beyond the glass.

I added water infused with dried mushrooms from the North to the oyster-sauce base.

A proper Chinese chef would probably call this a heretical deviation and rail at me.

But it was necessary in my restaurant.

I had to give the Northern Grand Duke a taste of fire unfamiliar to him while blending in the deep aroma of his own land.

Only then would he not feel as though the meal belonged entirely to someone else.

And above all, I thought it was only proper to serve food from his land to a leader so proud of it.

I placed the finished meat on a small stone plate.

The sauce briefly boiled on the hot stone, bringing the aroma up again.

The thin windbreak Estelle had hung inside the glass pushed the aroma toward the diners.

The Northern Grand Duke laughed broadly for the first time when he saw the plate.

“This looks like a battlefield meal. I like it.”

He ate the meat, then paused for a moment.

I tried to determine whether that pause meant failure or success.

The Northern Grand Duke soon picked up another piece of meat.

Success.

The second forkful was the most accurate evaluation.

“You used a tough cut.”

“Yes. It's a moderately tough cut with a satisfying chew.”

“And yet you haven't made it difficult to eat. You sliced it thinly and cooked it properly over the fire. The sauce is unfamiliar, but the mushroom aroma is familiar.”

I bowed my head.

“For a plate served to the Northern Grand Duke, I thought it should contain at least a little of the North's aroma.”

The Northern Grand Duke looked at me.

His eyes grew a little more serious.

“I didn't expect you to calculate even that.”

“Ingredients come from the land, after all. It's a gesture of respect to the person who rules that land.”

He laughed again.

“Good.”

At that single word, Thomas quietly clenched his fist in the back of the kitchen.

Marie smiled faintly outside the glass, while Elysia watched the Grand Duke's reaction without missing a thing.

I did some calculations of my own.

This course could command a high price.

I had to cook it directly over the fire, so the labor costs were high; I had to manage a kitchen visible to the guests; and even the cost of the spices and oyster-sauce base was hardly insignificant.

Besides, the guests weren't just enjoying a meal. They were watching a performance.

There were more than enough reasons to raise the price.

As I prepared the next plate, I suddenly thought,

‘Should I try something like a Manchu-Han Banquet later? The price... hmm, 1,500 gold? 2,000?’

My hand nearly stopped.

It was an insane thought.

But it wasn't completely impossible either.

I could replace ingredients that didn't exist in this world, avoid trying to preserve the original significance exactly, and string together dozens of small plates for an imperial banquet or the exclusive use of the highest nobles.

If I brought together Eastern-style cooking methods, ingredients from across the Empire, the Magic Tower's technology, seafood from the South, mushrooms and other ingredients from the North, and dairy products from the West, it could become an incredible table.

Of course, if the masters of traditional Chinese cuisine saw this, they wouldn't bring a wok down on my head this time. They'd shove me into a furnace and roast me alive as Peking duck.

Even so, a cuisine that let someone taste all the Empire's food through a variety of cooking methods in a single sitting... anyone would want to try it.

Of course, the price would be absurd too, but we'd reached a point where absurd prices occasionally made sense.

I laughed to myself and picked up the pan again.

Now wasn't the time to indulge in daydreams.

I had to finish the course in front of me first.

For the last brief course before dessert, I prepared vegetables.

After the meat and fish, the palate needed to be cleansed.

But if I ended with an ordinary salad, it would kill the rhythm of the course.

So I sliced root vegetables very thinly, quickly stir-fried them over high heat, and added a few drops of tart fruit juice at the end.

Once the fire-kissed vegetables met the acidity, the palate opened again.

The Northern Grand Duke ate the dish and nodded.

“We started with fire, but the end is as clear as snow.”

He really did have a way with words.

Were all the nobles in this world required to take a humanities course as part of their education...?

By the time the course ended, the Northern Grand Duke looked satisfied.

He rose from his seat and looked at me through the glass.

“Kyle Prat.”

“Yes.”

“You said it wasn't perfect.”

“Yes. It still falls short.”

“If this is what you call imperfect… then I'm even more interested in what comes next.”

He said that, then applauded slowly.

This time, his son applauded along with him.

I bowed my head.

The meal had been a success.

It wasn't perfect.

There were definite shortcomings that I knew about.

The timing of the fire still needed work, the sauce was a little heavy, and the vegetables' acidity came half a beat too late.

But the direction was right.

Rather than imitating the authentic version, I had reinterpreted it with my own hands.

That was the answer.

Today's meal had probably been a 90-point meal, even if it wasn't quite a 100.