Chapter 9
Money corrupts people.
Chefs corrupt even faster.
Until yesterday, I was someone who sat in front of withering herbs and questionable goat meat, wondering how I could bring them back to life.
But at dawn today, the moment three gold coins landed in my possession, my thoughts changed.
‘I want to buy good butter.’
Human desire is truly honest.
I knew that our debts were piled up like a mountain, that the manor was on the verge of collapse, and that the 150 gold Count Klever had given us was nowhere near enough to save the entire family.
Even so, having gold coins made my hands itch.
Yesterday, I had searched for ingredients I could save. Today, I could choose ingredients I wanted to use.
The difference was enormous.
I went back to the dawn market.
This time, I brought Marie with me.
It was less to teach her how to shop and more because, honestly, I needed someone to carry things.
At first, Marie looked as though she couldn't understand why a maid had to follow me all the way to the market, but after I gave her a few suitable compliments, she followed along with a slightly proud expression.
Praise moves people.
Wages move them even better.
“Kyle, what are we buying today?”
“Expensive things.”
I walked around the market and stopped in front of shops I had merely glanced at and passed by yesterday.
Small figs with purple skins, fruit that looked like ripe pears but smelled more like peaches, freshwater shrimp with silver spots embedded in their shells, firm butter said to come from the north, and deeply fragrant aged cheese.
If it had been yesterday, I would have turned around the moment I heard the prices, but today was different.
Of course, I didn't buy recklessly.
Sweeping up every expensive ingredient just because you have money is something only a novice owner does.
In my previous life, I saw plenty of people who had a good first month's sales and then frantically bought truffle oil and expensive tableware, only to cry in front of the rent bill the following month.
A chef needs desire, but a merchant has to know how to put a leash on that desire.
I selected a few fragrant fruits.
Marie asked,
“Is this dessert?”
“No. I'm going to use it like sashimi.”
“Sashimi?”
“I'll slice it very thin so the fragrance spreads the moment it touches your mouth. We won't go for the satisfaction of chewing meat or fish. We'll open the meal with the fruit's aroma and acidity.”
“Wouldn't slicing fruit that thin leave you hungry?”
“That's why it's expensive.”
“I still don't understand.”
“Don't try to understand. Just memorize it. Nobles like things that are expensive despite not filling them up.”
Marie looked at me distrustfully, but as someone who had personally seen the three gold coins yesterday, she didn't argue any further.
Experience is the best teacher. Especially when that experience is worth 150 gold, it works well.
I bought butter and cheese, fragrant fruit, a little shrimp, two small game birds, and herbs said to have absorbed the dew of dawn.
Merchants in this world had a habit of giving herbs unnecessarily poetic names, but the fragrance itself was good.
When I first smelled them, a scent faintly resembling lemon peel rose behind the smell of grass.
Used properly, they seemed suitable for an amuse-bouche.
Marie lugged the basket along with a grunt.
“Amuse what?”
“Amuse-bouche.”
“What's that?”
“A bite served before the meal begins. It wakes the guest's mouth and gives them a first playful hint of where tonight's meal is headed.”
“Why give them that?”
“Because it looks free.”
“Is it free?”
“It's all included in the price.”
“Kyle, you really sound like a swindler.”
“A successful restaurateur exists somewhere between a swindler and an artist.”
“That sounds kind of cool.”
“I just came up with it.”
When we returned to the manor, Elysia was already in the kitchen.
Her eyes had changed considerably.
Until then, she had looked like someone weighing whether death or gambling would come faster. Today, she looked like someone thinking about how to draw money out of other people's pockets more effectively.
It was a very desirable change.
“Did you go to the market again?”
“Yes.”
“With my money?”
“With yesterday's earnings.”
“Isn't that my money?”
“It's both your money and the restaurant's.”
“We had a restaurant?”
“I'm starting one today.”
Elysia laughed as if she found it absurd, then peered into the basket.
She picked up a piece of fruit and smelled it.
“This looks expensive.”
“It was expensive.”
“How much?”
“Enough to make you want to go back to the gambling house if you heard.”
“That much?”
“I'm joking. Half joking.”
Elysia looked at me while holding the fruit.
“What are you going to do with this?”
“I'll slice it thin and serve it as the first bite. We'll start with the fruit's aroma, move on to cheese and herbs, and then bring in the appetizer. Yesterday, we imitated a course meal because we had nothing. Starting today, we need to create a proper structure.”
“A structure?”
“We need to make the guest feel the story as they follow the meal. Yesterday, we fed them ruin, so today we have to sell them the story that comes next.”
Elysia's eyes sparkled.
“The funeral of House Monbel?”
As expected, this young lady's thoughts went in a slightly dangerous direction.
“That goes straight into the grave a little too quickly.”
“But nobles like that sort of thing, don't they? The final invitation from a dead house, a black plate beneath the candlelight, memories disappearing with every bite.”
“My lady.”
“Yes?”
“You have more talent than I expected.”
Elysia blinked for a moment, then smiled.
“Is that a compliment?”
“Yes. I can smell money.”
“Your compliments are strange, as always.”
Strange as it was, I meant it sincerely.
I can cook.
But Elysia understood the sensibilities favored by high society better than I did.
I knew the grammar of fine dining from my previous life, but I still didn't completely understand which words nobles in this world were susceptible to or what images made them open their wallets.
Elysia was a ruined noblewoman, but she was still a noblewoman.
She knew their vanity, their concern for appearances, and their cruel tastes firsthand.
That knowledge was worth money.
“All right. A funeral is too much, so let's go with something like a funeral held while one is still alive.”
“Is that less intense?”
“In that we're not dead.”
“House Monbel isn't dead, but it's a house everyone thinks is dead. So we send the guests invitations to a funeral, then show them at the table that we're still breathing?”
I set down my knife and looked at Elysia.
“My lady.”
“Why?”
“Did you work in marketing in your previous life?”
“What's that?”
“A dignified term for deceiving people.”
“Then all nobles are doing marketing.”
“Exactly.”
Elysia smiled as if she liked that.
This smile was no longer precariously bright.
She was still a little crazy, but at least she was crazy in the direction of business rather than death.
I decided that was healthy enough.
We sat at a small table and planned the flow of the course.
I suggested serving thinly sliced fruit as the amuse-bouche, followed by an appetizer with tiny shrimp and herbs.
Elysia said it would be better not to declare that Monbel had died on the first plate, but to make it so that a name everyone believed dead came alive with fragrance in the guest's mouth.
It was a little overblown, but the direction was fine.
I translated it into kitchen language.
The first bite would be thinly sliced fruit and dawn herbs.
“Awakening Aroma” seemed like a good name.
If you spoke too directly about hope, it would become cheap, so I kept it restrained with words like dawn and fragrance.
The next appetizer would use goat's-milk cheese and tiny shrimp to connect Monbel's pastures with its river.
Then the soup would go deeper than yesterday's, and the main course would change between game bird and venison depending on the guest.
Elysia propped her chin on her hand and muttered,
“What if we changed the story a little for each guest?”
“How?”
“Count Klever came to collect a debt, so he ate ruin. Other nobles could be different. Some might come to verify a rumor, some to laugh at us, and some might come to steal Kyle away.”
“The last one sounds ominous.”
“The count already said to send you to his estate.”
“Let's not think about that.”
“Why? I have to think about it. You're my chef.”
The words came out so naturally that I stopped cutting for a moment.
Elysia also seemed to realize only belatedly what she had said, but she made no attempt to take it back.
“Because I invested in you.”
“Ah, right.”
“My money went into you, so you're my chef.”
“For now, yes.”
“For now?”
“My lady, I'm not a serf but a free person. I work for a salary. Even if you become possessive, you can't own me.”
“Kyle.”
“Yes?”
“I was someone who tried to kill myself yesterday. Isn't developing possessiveness today a sign that I've become much healthier?”
I had no rebuttal.
I sighed and sliced the fruit thinly.
As the tip of the knife passed through the flesh, the fragrance rose quietly.
I layered the slices on the plate so thinly they were nearly transparent, then tore the herb leaves into tiny pieces and scattered them on top.
Finally, I added a single drop of the raspberry vinegar I'd bought at the dawn market.
Marie watched from beside me and frowned.
“This is really too little.”
“That's why it's the first bite.”
“It doesn't even seem like a bite.”
“Then it'll look even more expensive.”
“Kyle, you really seem like a bad person.”
“Thank you.”
Elysia looked down at the plate and asked cautiously,
“Can I taste it?”
“I made it for you to eat.”
She picked up a piece of fruit with her fork and put it in her mouth.
Then she said nothing for a moment.
It was an unremarkable plate. Thinly sliced fruit, herbs, and a single drop of acidity.
But once it entered her mouth, the fragrance spread first, followed by the fruit's sweetness and the vinegar's sharpness passing by in a brief flash.
It didn't fill her stomach at all, but instead made her wait for the next plate.
Elysia slowly opened her eyes.
“Strange.”
“Does it taste bad?”
“No. I'm angry because it disappears too quickly.”
“That's a good reaction.”
“This is good?”
“You want to eat another bite.”
Elysia stared blankly for a moment, then looked down at the plate again.
“It does.”
A smile spread across her lips.
“Nobles will hate it.”
“Why?”
“They won't be able to admit right away that it's delicious because of their pride, but they'll be annoyed because they want to eat another bite.”
I nodded as I looked at her.
“My lady.”
“Yes?”
“I can smell money, as expected.”
“I'm starting to feel a little good when you say that.”
It was a dangerous sign.
But that was all right.
The kitchen, the manor, and my lady were all slowly going crazy.
Fortunately, this time it wasn't in the direction of ruin.
Just then, Uncle Bernard knocked on the kitchen door.
He held three sealed letters in his hands.
His expression was stiff, but there was an unmistakable look of bewilderment around his eyes.
“My lady. Kyle.”
“What's the matter?”
“We've received word from nobles who attended the social gatherings in the capital. They're all inquiring about Monbel's meals.”
Elysia's eyes widened.
I set down the knife in my hand.
“Already?”
“Yes. One asked whether today was possible, while another wanted the earliest available reservation without even asking the price.”
Marie's mouth fell open.
Elysia slowly looked at me.
I stared at the three letters and muttered inwardly,
‘Rumors travel fast, nobles.’
This was the real beginning.
“My lady.”
“Yes.”
“We'll need to make a reservation book.”
“A reservation book?”
“A ledger recording who came, when they came, what they ate, and how much they paid.”
“Good. What should we call it?”
“Does it need a title?”
Elysia said with an expression that suggested it was obvious,
“Calling it just a ledger would be boring.”
This young lady had completely gotten the hang of it now.
I thought for a moment, then answered,
“Then let's call it this.”
“What?”
Looking at the plate of thinly sliced fruit, I said,
“Monbel's Book of Condolences.”
Elysia paused for a moment, then smiled with sparkling eyes.
“We're not dead yet.”
“That's why we can charge more.”
Marie looked back and forth between the two of us and muttered softly,
“You two have both gotten weird.”