"This is called 'potato salad.' It's made by boiling karfe potatoes and mashing them, adding other vegetables, and mixing it all with 'mayonnaise.' Does it suit your taste?"
"It's a flavor I've never had before, but it's not bad. Yes, not bad at all."
It seemed
Come to think of it, when I first made mayonnaise at
For the record, I had never made it myself since becoming Mine. Mayonnaise requires fresh eggs, vegetable oil, vinegar, and salt, and on top of that, mixing it is extremely difficult, so without a hand mixer, it was beyond me.
While the vegetable salad sat untouched, my father watched Sylvester eating nothing but potato salad, then picked up a bite of the potato salad himself, chewing thoughtfully several times while nodding.
"...Indeed, it's a flavor I've never had before, but not bad."
Having observed the reactions of all three—high-ranking nobles just like me—
"Adoptive Father, why don't you try that salad as well?"
As Sylvester moved to refill his potato salad, I called out to him. He hadn't touched the steamed chicken salad yet.
Perhaps he wasn't fond of vegetables—Sylvester narrowed his eyes slightly as he poked at the salad. After the crunching sounds of chewing rang out, he blinked several times, then took another bite.
"
"That's an 'herb dressing.' This time it's a mixture of vegetable oil, salt, citrus juice, and edible herbs, but the taste changes depending on what you mix in."
Around here, sauces were typically made by simmering everything together first, and most used meat drippings. They'd pour something like gravy sauce over vegetables too. It tasted good enough, but by the time you ate it, white oil often floated on top, which I didn't particularly enjoy.
"What's this white stuff on the vegetables? It looks like chicken, but it's soft and has a different taste."
"It is indeed chicken. The prep work is rather laborious, but does it taste good?"
"Mm."
Sylvester, who didn't seem to be fond of vegetables, finished all the salad and was about to ask
"Adoptive Father, if you fill up here, you won't be able to eat the other dishes, will you?"
"Hmm, you're right about that."
I picked up the fluffy bread so others could reach it too, tearing off a bite-sized piece. As I tore the still-warm bread, steam rose along with the sweet scent of freshly baked bread.
Putting it in my mouth, a soft texture and warm sweetness spread through my palate along with the delicious aroma.
...Ah, it was
My cheeks relaxed at the perfect baking degree and the familiar taste—and right within my field of vision, it was Frieda who eagerly reached for the bread. She had apparently been waiting for me to eat.
The moment Frieda picked up the warm bread, she looked startled, comparing the bread to me. She seemed amazed by its softness, gently kneading it with light hand movements to confirm just how soft it was.
Then she tore off a bite and put it in her mouth. While eating, she kept her right hand pressed to her mouth, eyes slightly widened. Gradually, her brown eyes grew brighter, and it was easy to tell she was calculating something in her head.
"Lady Rozemyne, this is the first time I've had bread that is this fluffy, soft, and sweet even without chewing. What is the secret recipe? I would very much like to offer it in my shop."
Just as I'd expected, Frieda pounced on it. I knew she'd want it absolutely, since I'd only handed over the actual natural yeast without teaching Hugo and the others the recipe.
I was considering what excuse to give when Sylvester grinned.
"You said Frieda, was it? Regrettably, that's not possible. This bread is a secret recipe meant to impress the nobles this winter."
His deep green eyes turned toward me and gleamed with a sharp look that said, "Agree with me." Since I'd originally intended to use the fluffy bread to strengthen my position as the Lord's adopted daughter, I had no objection to that refusal.
"What my Adoptive Father says is correct. I had it specially made today since my Adoptive Father and father are here, but I plan to introduce this bread to the wider world at this winter's social season."
"Oh, is that so?"
Frieda smiled brightly and said, "What a shame," before taking another bite of bread. The chef on duty today shouldn't have been Ilse, but she was probably thinking of giving some to Ilse as well.
"It's delicious, but..."
My father picked up his third refill of bread, tore it in half, and took a bite, then furrowed his brows with a grunt.
"It's too soft for me. It's unsatisfying. No matter how much I eat, I never feel full."
Since chewing provided a sense of satisfaction and satiety, that opinion made sense. I mentally noted that Father preferred firmer bread. If he ate to his heart's content at this rate, the food bill would be catastrophic.
"This is consommé soup."
The moment the cart entered the room, an aroma that instantly captured everyone's attention wafted over. A large soup tureen sat atop the cart, and what had been brought in was a richly concentrated consommé soup, its umami deepened through slow simmering.
There were no vegetables or anything else in it—just a perfectly clear, amber-colored soup. In this region, where it was taken for granted that vegetables were boiled down and their cooking liquid discarded, this was a soup you could absolutely never taste here.
"It smells wonderful, but there's nothing in it?"
Sylvester's eyes went round when he saw the soup that Fran had poured for him. Around here, soup was defined as having vegetables boiled to mush inside it. A soup with no visible ingredients simply didn't exist.
"It actually tastes better with nothing in it. I think you'll find it delicious and surprising."
I leaned in slightly to enjoy the aroma. It was a rich scent that made my mouth water. The amber liquid, which was obviously filtered with utmost care, rippled as I dipped in a spoon, releasing even more fragrance.
Then I raised the spoon to my lips and let the consommé flow in. I slowly rolled the densely packed umami across my tongue, savoring it. Rich and deeply flavored, yet with a surprisingly clean finish—the taste of double consommé drew a murmured sigh of admiration from me.
Hugo had really outdone himself. Was it the difference in experience? Honestly, it was many times more delicious than the consommé Ela had made.
"Then, I shall try it as well."
Sylvester took one sip, his eyes widening. He immediately took another, furrowed his brows, then took yet another sip, tilting his head as he chewed slowly.
"What... is this flavor?"
"It contains various meats and vegetables. It's a soup that concentrates all their umami. It's also used to add flavor to various dishes."
The Chief Priest was also furrowing his brows with a perplexed expression as he ate the consommé soup. Judging by his face alone, it looked extremely unappetizing, but judging by how quickly he was eating, he clearly found it delicious.
"Lord
"Hmm? ...Indeed. I consider this an exceedingly beautiful dish."
"Beautiful?"
When I tilted my head at his assessment of "beautiful" rather than "delicious," the Chief Priest dabbed lightly at his mouth with a napkin and explained.
"Yes, beautiful. After a single sip, can you not perceive from its depth of flavor that a variety of ingredients were used? Each element's umami emerges, they complement one another, and it's all concentrated together. And yet, the soup has nothing floating in it—it's so clear you can see to the bottom. It possesses a beauty of the highest refinement."
I never expected him to be so eloquent. There was no doubt he was quite taken with it.
"Thank you for waiting."
With those words, another cart rolled in. One of the main courses—the macaroni gratin—was served. It was baked in a small ceramic cocotte dish, which was nestled inside a wooden holder with handles for carrying.
"This brown dish is extremely hot, so please be very careful not to touch it. When eating, please hold it by this wooden part."
That the gratin had just come out of the oven was immediately obvious to everyone. It was still bubbling, the white sauce boiling, and the cheese on top shifting. The scent of browned cheese rising alongside white steam was irresistible.
Since there were no hollow macaroni available, Hugo had made farfalle by hand this time. It paired well with the white sauce, and there was no risk of the sauce inside a hollow pasta burning your tongue with a sudden surprise. Perfect.
"Rozemyne, is this a cheese bake?"
"It's a little different, but something along those lines. Please be careful not to burn your tongue."
In the Noble District, there were several dishes where cheese was melted over poultry or vegetables, and they'd had something like meat sauce before. But they had never tasted white sauce. Whether it simply didn't exist or I just happened never to have eaten it, I couldn't say.
The hot, stretchy cheese clung lightly around the farfalle as I wrapped it, then I blew on it gently before putting it in my mouth. A rich, satisfying happiness spread through my palate. The base ingredients were slightly different, so the finished taste was naturally different too, but this was based on my mother's recipe from the time I was Urano.
"Rozemyne."
Sylvester glared at me, his brows furrowed deeply.
"In what way is this 'something along those lines'? This is an entirely different dish from a cheese bake!"
"You put cheese on it and bake it in an oven, so it's similar, isn't it?"
"Everything else is completely different. What is this rich, white substance? I like this."
I had deliberately chosen menu items that a child would enjoy, and it seemed to have worked. Sylvester's eyes were gleaming as he scooped up the white sauce to show me, and I smiled softly.
"This is called 'white sauce.' It's made from butter, milk, and flour, seasoned with salt."
As expected, there was no white sauce in this region.
Father took one bite of the gratin and set down his fork. Worried he hadn't liked it, I looked over, and he was gazing at me with a serious expression.
"While Rozemyne has been living with us, I've eaten several of the rare sweets that her chef supposedly made, but aside from what was served at the
Father glanced at me. Sylvester raised his face at the word "sweets," but I ignored him and continued my conversation with Father.
"Mother would never be so careless as to entrust cooking to a chef she'd only taken to the kitchen once. She made and offered sweets multiple times, earned his trust, and only recently began exchanging recipes for sweets. As for actual dishes, she said there would be plenty of time for that going forward."
"I see."
Mother had prioritized exchanging recipes for tea party sweets, so she shouldn't have exchanged many cooking recipes yet. I'd heard that Ela's contributions at the Baptism Ceremony had been mostly sweets as well. I wouldn't know firsthand, though, since I'd passed out before eating any of it.
"I shall take over guard duty."
In his place,
As Eckhart left, another cart entered. The second main course was a meat dish.
"I thought you might want a meat dish, so I prepared one. It's 'stewed hamburger steak.'"
"Oh my."
I had figured Sylvester, with his inner elementary-school-boy, would probably enjoy this. As expected, his eyes lit up at the sight of a meat dish.
In truth, making hamburger steak was also exhausting. Mincing meat by hand was no small feat. It was a far cry from the Urano era, where you could simply buy it.
But Hugo and the others had really worked hard. They'd pounded the meat with a knife over and over to prepare it. They'd even made cheese-filled hamburgers that melted when cut.
Here, they took the skin off the yellow tomato-flavored vegetable called pome, diced it, simmered it in consommé, then added hamburger steaks that had been seared on the outside until browned, simmering them further to create pome-sauce stewed hamburgers.
The hamburgers for Frieda and me, who were already full, were about half the size of everyone else's.
When I pressed a knife into the small, rounded hamburger on my plate, clear meat juices flowed out, and a moment later, yellow, stretchy cheese oozed forth.
"Something came out!"
"It's cheese."
As I moved the knife, the melted cheese swayed gently. I cut the hamburger into bite-sized pieces, coated them with sauce and cheese, and brought one to my mouth.
"Mmm, delicious."
The pome sauce made with high-quality consommé was divine.
Unable to wait any longer, Sylvester immediately cut into his hamburger and took a bite. His eyes widened, and he nodded several times.
"Mmm... This is delicious. It's my favorite so far."
"I had a feeling you'd say that, Adoptive Father. I'm glad you enjoy it."
Father and the Chief Priest were eating in silence. Father was devouring his in big bites. The Chief Priest was cutting into his with fluid, elegant knife work. But the hamburgers were disappearing from both their plates rather quickly.
"Lord Ferdinand, how was it?"
"This sauce uses the soup from earlier, doesn't it? Deeply flavorful and truly excellent. I didn't expect it could be applied this way..."
The Chief Priest was truly enamored with the consommé. He launched into an enthusiastic monologue about the beauty of the consommé soup.
...Yeah, yeah. It's beautiful. *Chomp chomp*, hamburger's yummy.
Sylvester's expression was one of pure bliss when the main courses were finished, but it wasn't over yet. Dessert still remained.
I was also completely full, but dessert was a separate stomach. I could do it. I could still go.
"Now for dessert."
As the servers cleared plates and bustled about preparing tea, it was
In the center of pure white whipped cream, a gleaming red lutrobert sat enthroned—it was unmistakably a strawberry shortcake.
In truth, successfully making this sponge cake was extremely difficult. The difficulty lay in handling the oven. Temperature regulation was not easy, so it rarely turned out perfectly. But when it succeeded, it was truly delicious.
Judging by how this cake was cut and sized, the edges had probably been overbaked and turned too hard. I figured they'd only brought the parts that could be enjoyed properly.
Then the next cart arrived. This held the cake that had been prepared in advance in case the sponge cake failed. At my preference, they'd made a milk crepe—a cake of thin crepes layered with whipped cream between each.
For visual beauty, they'd spread Ferijine sauce—orange juice simmered down with sugar—over the top, giving it a glossy sheen. This Ferijine added a refreshing summer fruit fragrance and flavor.
The final cart bore quatre-quarts for the gentlemen who weren't particularly fond of sweets, made with plenty of distilled alcohol, and quatre-quarts with tea leaves. These had been baked by Ilse in advance and left to rest for a day, so the flavors should have mellowed beautifully.
"Please choose whatever you'd like."
Leon lined up the carts and, serving as waiter, asked Sylvester which he preferred. Sylvester stared at the cakes on each cart, wrestling seriously with his decision.
He was probably thinking, "All of them. Give me everything." If he simply said that aloud, Leon would comply, but a server couldn't speak up unprompted.
Watching Sylvester, who couldn't make up his mind even though the tea was already ready, Leon wore a look of despair and silently pleaded with me for help.
"Adoptive Father, you needn't worry so much—just pick whichever catches your eye. Even if you choose everything, the portions have been pre-cut small enough to fit on a plate."
"Oh! Then, everything."
With a beaming face, Sylvester snorted with satisfaction. He really was an elementary-school-boy on the inside.
Well, with the first being served Lord answering "everything," it made it easy for everyone else interested to sample all the varieties too, so I'd count that as a win.
I chose the milk crepe as planned, since I'd had shortcake made by Ela recently. The Chief Priest and Father selected all varieties. Benno took both types of quatre-quarts, while the Guild Master and Frieda went with the shortcake.
Sipping tea, we savored the cakes in small bites. The Ferijine flavor amid the modest sweetness was pleasant.
Among myself, Benno, and the others—who had already tasted everything during the prep stages—a relaxed, post-meal atmosphere lingered, and we shared a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Sylvester, who compared each cake, raised his eyebrows or closed his eyes in enjoyment; the Chief Priest, who ate cake slowly with a thoughtful expression; and Father, who demolished everything in the blink of an eye—the atmosphere around us was different from theirs.
*It was delicious, wasn't it? I'm glad our first guest was satisfied...* That kind of spent, contented feeling hung in the air.
After polishing off all the desserts and finishing his tea, Sylvester wore a satisfied smile.
"Today's lunch was truly meaningful. Honestly, I wondered what a commoner's eatery could possibly serve, but the food exceeded all expectations."
"I'm honored to hear that."
The words that escaped Benno's mouth, after being bombarded with impossible demands, were brimming with emotion.
The Guild Master and Frieda also wore expressions of deep satisfaction at having successfully pulled off such a grand event—a dining meeting with the Lord.
"I have high expectations for the future of this Italian restaurant."
After saying that, Sylvester's expression sharpened instantly. Sensing the shift in atmosphere, everyone straightened in their seats simultaneously.
"Now then, Benno. I'd like to hear your report on the recent inspection. Clear the room, please."