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Volume 1, Chapter 27: I begin coaching.

“Sorry…no, please excuse my rudeness.”

While I gulped down the cup of water Zeke gave me to cleanse my palate, the head chef bowed to me. His complete change in attitude caused a ruckus among the other chefs. Of course they were, as it was no simple feat for the head chef to be bowing his head to a young girl who had only lived for half of his years.

However, I saw the head chef in a more positive light now that he honestly admitted his defeat as a chef.

“Hey, can I have some too?”

While the other chefs muttered amongst themselves, the sous chef from earlier said his first words after the competition and pointed at my food. When I answered, “Yes, of course,” he happily went to try some. The other chefs followed his lead.

“Would you like some of this too, Zeke?”

“I’m fine.”

I jumped on the bandwagon, pointing to the head chef’s food and asking Zeke, to which Zeke gave an immediate reply. The head chef heard us and his shoulders drooped in dejection.

Ah, sorry head chef. I’ve trampled all over your pride as a royal chef.

“Well, well, you surpassed all my expectations, Lady Risa.”

The sous chef left the circle of chefs trying out my food and called out to me.

“Your expectations?”

“I went to your place, Café Omusubi, a while ago. I’ve been secretly excited about this since the Secretary told us about it.”

“Keith! You knew about this!?”

“Head chef, I’m not a chef if I don’t head to the streets and do some research you know!”

Although he was already a sous chef, Keith said he was only 32 years old. He was friendly, or perhaps flashy, but he must have been quite skillful to have reached sous chef at such a young age.

Apparently he had been to my shop. Neither Zeke nor I remembered him, though.

“The head chef has admitted defeat, which means we can expect to be coached by Lady Risa, right?”

Reminded by his words of our purpose for visiting, I looked at the head chef. He seemed to remember the same thing as he looked at me, shouted at the noisy subordinates who were trying my food, and bowed his head to me.

“Please coach us.”

I understand. I’ll coach you.

“First, what is this amount of oil? It’s too little to fry, but too much to grill. Also, why didn’t you drain the oil before plating? There’s a big puddle of oil on the plate.”

“Well, this is fish à la meunière…”

“What? Meunière is done with butter, not oil!”

I criticized the head chef’s dish. I felt a little guilty rubbing salt over the head chef’s open wound, but the thing he served was inedible.

After he asked for guidance, I apologized to him. I explained that I provoked him into a competition, and he understood and offered the kitchen’s cooperation.

Even so, there were many places to improve before the international royal conference. I was discouraged to hear the head chef’s blatant question, “What is butter?” but I decided that I would begin coaching with the evening meal.

“What is the evening meal for today?”

“…The main dish was going to be the meunière…with sides of pleuet soup and kel salad.”

So that fish that was in no way à la meunière was going to be the main dish. Pleuet was a small watermelon-looking pumpkin. Kel was a common fish similar to salmon. They had already finished food preparations, so I asked them to show me. First, the pleuet soup was already finished, so I opened the pot lid and looked in.

“Eh…this is finished…?”

“Yes. We just need to heat it up and plate it.”

The soup station chef answered without an ounce of hesitation.

Honestly, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even have to taste it to know how bad it was. It was a potful of salt water with bite sized pieces of pumpkin floating in it…

“Head chef…”

The man shrunk back in reply to my stiff voice.

“May I change the menu?”

“Yes, of course!”

I gave orders after the head chef’s immediate reply. There were only two and a half hours left until dinner, so there was no time to prepare other food. We would have to modify the current menu.

“First, throw away the water for the pleuet and mash it with a wooden spatula or something. Once it’s quite crushed, strain it until it’s smooth.”

The head chef relayed my orders to the station chef. All the chef’s in the kitchen moved at once at his command. Seeing their speed, I could see that he had led this kitchen for a long time. He wasn’t head chef just for show.

“The kel salad is fine, but add dressing to it.”

“Lady Risa, what is this dressing you speak of?”

I had them prepare the ingredients at the salad station and began to make the dressing. First, I diced a pseudo-onion. I wanted to grate it, but I didn’t have a grater so I thinly chopped it instead. I slid the onion into a bowl with salt, pepper, lintz oil, and pseudo-kabosu juice. I reached for a whisk but then I remembered there was no such thing in this kitchen. Making a mental note to myself to bring in a whisk next time, I poured the contents of the bowl into a jar and shook it instead. I dipped my finger in and tasted it. Hm, good. The dressing is done.

I placed the thinly chopped kel in the center like a rose and scattered leaf vegetables around it. Then I drizzled the dressing on top with a spoon.

“Please try some.”

I handed the plate to the head chef. He tried a bite and his eyes widened.

“Amazing! The ramul’s sourness gives a refreshing punch and fits well with the kel and the salad!”

The pseudo-kabosu seemed to be called ramul. The head chef had the salad station chef eat some, and ordered him to make the dressing.

“Head chef! The preparations for the pleuet are finished!”

Hearing that, I moved back to the soup station. The pot had pumpkin mash in it. The station chef was sparkling with anticipation, waiting for me to compliment him. However, this was only the beginning.

“Do you have any milk?”

“Yes, but…what for?”

“What do you mean what for? We’re putting it in here.”

“What!?”

Yes, I planned to make potage soup from the pleuet. It hadn’t even crossed the soup station chef’s mind to add milk to soup, and he stared at me with his jaw dropped. Of course, the head chef was also surprised, but he ordered someone to bring milk over.

Soon a milk fruit was on the table. This milkfruit, essential for making cream, was an indispensable ingredient in my cooking and in desserts.

As always, I carved out a hole on the top of the milk fruit and poured the milk into the pot. I set the pot on the stove and heated it, taking care to stir it with a ladle so the bottom wouldn’t burn. When it began to bubble, I added some salt and pepper and tasted it. Yup, the taste of pumpkin potage soup.

“Head chef, soup station chef, have a taste.”

I turned off the heat and the head chef and soup station chef each took a spoonful.

“…Delicious.”

Their voices harmonized.

“I had no idea you could use milk this way…Not only did it keep the pleuet’s thickness, but it rounded out the flavor…”

The head chef murmured. He was satisfied with the outcome, so the soup was okay.

Now, last on the list was the meunière. This was the job of the head and sous chefs.

“I’ve been waiting for your guidance, Lady Risa!”

“Keith, you little…”

Sous chef Keith said with a light tone, to which the head chef chided. I couldn’t help but laugh at their bickering. It was hard to tell whether Mister Keith was a diligent or lazy person. One thing for sure, he was not to be underestimated.

Well, anyways, the meunière the head chef made could not be saved, so I started from scratch. First, I had the head chef and Mister Keith fillet the sea bream-like fish, called lomelle. The problem lay in the next step. I seasoned the fillet with salt and pepper. The head chef did not even season the fillet just now. Then, I covered the fish in flour. This was an easy task, so no problem here.

Next was the problematic frying. I urged the two to pay attention, and turned on the heat under the frying pan. I added a bit of oil to the heated pan and tilted it to cover the bottom with oil. I put in the fish covered with flour and grilled both sides to a golden brown. Then I moved it to the medium heat burner and set the lid on to steam. After the fish was cooked, I added a square of butter to melt on the fish.

There was no butter in this kitchen, so I asked Zeke to go back to the café to get some. The head chef and Mister Keith were very interested in an ingredient they had never seen before.

Finally, I plated it and squeezed some ramul juice left over from the salad dressing onto the fish and set a piece of watercress-like vegetable on the side as garnish.

“Things to take note of. First, make sure the fish is seared to seal in the flavor. You can make sure it is cooked when you steam it on medium heat. Take special care not to burn the butter at the end.”

“Lady Risa, may I have a bite?”

“Go ahead.”

Once I answered the fidgeting Mister Keith, he reached for the meunière with glee. The head chef tried some as well.

“Whoa, this is amazing!!”

“…T-this is meunière?”

Mister Keith ate the fish with jubilee, while the head chef was once again defeated into dejection.

“Head chef, you’ve suffered an utter defeat, eh! Well, you just have to keep working hard from now on!”

It was unclear whether Mister Keith was consoling the head chef as he slapped the head chef’s shoulder repeatedly.

“Besides, we’re so lucky to have Lady Risa coaching us! It means the world for a chef to make good food, after all. I’m happy to know that there’s someone better than me!”

“…You’re right. We still have much to improve.”

Yes, the desire and ambition towards food would never run out. Anyone should have the desire to eat good food, even if it is this world where food is not as developed as Earth. By opening the minds of the people who stand at the center of food culture in this world, more doors should be opening for the development of food culture here as a whole. Those doors would definitely increase the speed at which food culture develops.

So I prayed for the day when someone who could make more delicious food than me would appear. To that end, I started with becoming the teacher of the royal chefs.