LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter 11
Something about this beer feels strangely thick, unlike any I’ve had before.
Karem, after ten years including his previous life, had such thoughts while gulping down the beer.
Now that I think about it, old beers didn’t have the typical white foam, and I believe I heard they were more like a thick brew than anything refreshing, resembling a stout.
Wasn’t the original beer something you drank through a straw to avoid the sediment that settled at the bottom?
Originally, beer was quite close to a meal, a grain soup made from bread, but of course, drinking too much still got you drunk.
Karem felt as if he understood why beer was used as a meal back then.
As the bottom of the beer glass became visible, Karem felt a heaviness in his stomach as if he had just eaten a dense loaf of bread, despite it just being beer.
The aroma reminiscent of nuts came up through his throat.
He thought that if he hadn’t felt the sloshing in his stomach from pouring it in on an empty stomach, he might have mistaken it for having eaten a nut bread.
As Karem gripped the large mug with both hands, ready to dunk his head into it, Hamerson smiled in satisfaction.
“Hah, one’s first beer is something you never forget.”
“It’s a memory that’s impossible to forget.”
“But what about Princess Catherine—”
Karem noticed a hint of melancholy in Hamerson’s voice, as if he had stirred up bad memories.
Just as Hamerson was about to ask why Karem wasn’t drinking like everyone else, he recalled Catherine’s curse, which made him feel a moment of regret.
Oh right. I’ve been too absorbed in the beer. Karem quickly downed what was left in his mug and reached for the glass set before Catherine.
As the glass came closer, Catherine gulped it down and sighed deeply just as Karem was about to take it away.
“Pahaaah! At least my throat’s wet now, let’s eat something.”
“The glass is empty, my good sir. Three more here!”
“Of course it’s not enough!”
“Oh, wait, I already ordered—ah, they’ve left.”
As Hamerson disappeared with the glass, Karem noticed Gordon staring longingly at the empty table, when a beautiful elf waitress approached, like she was swapping places with Hamerson, placing dishes full of food on the table.
Wait, we didn’t order anything. This food just appeared? In response to Karem’s reflexive question, the elf replied in a vibrant, bell-like voice, as if from an automated response.
“The alcohol and food have been covered by Mr. Hamerson.”
“Then that means it’s free?”
“Hamerson, stubborn as he is, showing such consideration? That’s refreshing.”
“Sir Mage, what debt could a dwarf have with someone who saved their life that they’d give away such things for free?”
Gordon asked, looking startled, at the source of their unexpected meal.
Karem, though trapped in the little world of Moston Village, understood quite well what kind of race dwarves were.
A drunken priest had once said that when it comes to money, dwarves would never forget even the smallest debt, collecting regardless of the situation, not caring what nation they were from.
Karem recalled other things the priest had mentioned.
One city had shorted the wall construction budget by just 10 shillings, and with resentment in their hearts, they sold the weaknesses of their walls to a rival city to get back that same 10 shillings.
As he let the priest’s tales of dwarves roll off his back, the table was now covered in steamy food.
In the center of the table sat small pies piled like a pyramid, smoked herring stuffed with onions and green onions, mysterious meat skewers, and a somewhat white rye bread, all ready to be held in one hand.
“Uh, but is there no dessert?”
“Desserts take some time, so please wait.”
“Oh, well, if that’s the case.”
Responding to Gordon’s question, the elf waitress set down more tableware and bowls filled with thick, brown stew before the three.
The rich, heavy aroma of meat. Despite Karem’s worry about being full from the hefty beer, it seemed like an empty concern.
With his stomach rumbling, he absentmindedly grabbed the nearest pie.
“Wow, this is quite tough.”
“Of course, it’s a pie, the crust is supposed to be hard.”
“Ah, true.”
Back in the day, before modern pastries were invented, the pie crust was said to be so hard it served as a dish.
Indeed, it felt as hard as a rock in Karem’s hands.
If it had been just a few months ago, he would have been grateful enough just to tear into it somehow.
As Karem adjusted his grip on the pie, Catherine subtly scooted closer to him.
Having grown accustomed to Catherine’s gestures while serving, Karem quickly figured it out.
As he lifted the spoon to take a bite of the pie, the rich flavor trapped inside burst out like steam, teasing his nose.
The contents of the pie seemed to primarily consist of onions, carrots, and tenderly cooked beef mixed in a dark brown sauce.
He was sure it was a rich gravy with plenty of butter and meaty aroma.
As Karem brought the spoon to Catherine’s lips, she quickly took a bite of steam-waving spoonful, seemingly unfazed by the heat.
“It’s not that urgent; let it cool a bit, will you? You’re going to scorch the roof of your mouth.”
“Just this much? Besides, food should be enjoyed while it’s warm.”
Catherine’s assessment that food should be eaten hot was so universally applicable to any decent meal that Karem found himself unable to argue against her.
Roasted meat smells bad when cold, and broths turn bland and greasy.
Most foods should be eaten hot, making it impossible for Karem to do anything but feed Catherine steadily.
During their journey to Borderster, Karem sometimes overheard Gordon and Catherine’s tales about the infamous cuisine of the Kingdom of Seophone.
Each one reminiscent of jokes made about British food transported to a medieval setting.
They said the poor caught slimes from the sewers of the royal capital and boiled them to eat.
Sure, Karem could understand that. In a city, the poor would naturally have to find whatever they could eat, just like serfs.
But the notion of cooking hunted game without bleeding it first and just tossing it in salt was a bit much…
Moreover, he had heard that among the nobles of Seophone, very few people employed foreign chefs.
Karem was increasingly concerned that his own kingdom might as well be a fantasy version of medieval England, just renamed.
Yet the scene unfolding before him was somewhat different.
“Hah, this little pie may be small, but it’s packed with flavor!”
“Did they cook this for a long time? It’s tender and falls apart before your teeth even touch it, right?”
“Now let’s try the skewered meat… Mmm, this smell! I can’t possibly resist it.”
“This… is Snowrunner meat.”
Even though Karem had been well-fed by the outside world, the food available indoors in a civilized setting was something special.
Gordon and Catherine were completely engrossed in their meal until half of what was on the table had vanished.
Of course, Karem was busy keeping pace with Catherine’s eating speed.
He piled empty pies stacked with only sauce to one side and cut a piece of smoked herring to feed her, pulling meat from the skewers labeled Snowrunner and tearing pieces of bread off to give her as well.
Eventually, having noticed that Karem wasn’t eating at all, Catherine paused when Hamerson brought over more beer.
Realizing the unspoken courtesy, Karem quickly grabbed the pie directly in front of him. He’d been hungry, after all.
“Wow, this tastes surprisingly good.”
Karem devoured the pie he first held and promptly reached for a second.
The rich brown sauce in the pie hinted at thick gravy, possibly enhanced by copious amounts of onion, lending a sweet flavor.
With a long-cooked, tender meat that shattered easily and vegetables that melted at just the movement of his tongue.
And the acidity that balances the richness of the gravy.
The herring stuffed with onions and green onions, which initially seemed like it would be salty, turned out to reveal a nutty flavor the more he chewed.
The meat from this creature called Snowrunner was something Karem couldn’t identify, but it was a bit dry with no gamey smell, very reminiscent of steak.
Overall, Karem’s tongue was thoroughly satisfied as he enjoyed his first meal prepared by someone else, after reincarnating in this world.
“As for the bread…well, it’s just soft, but it’s still bread.”
“What did you expect from a rye bread mixed with a little flour?”
“Oh no, it’s just that the two of them had such prejudices about the food, based on their constant complaints about it. Everything I’ve seen in the village was kind of what I expected.”
“Complaints? Prejudices? So you mean all Seophone food is basically bad?”
Karem nodded in agreement to Gordon’s words.
“Like this pie, and the smoked herring, and the skewers… Oh, I almost forgot about the stew!”
Karem quickly dug into the stew that had been sitting in front of him, having forgotten everyone else was in a flurry to eat the main dishes. Yet the stew proved rich and thick with a wealth of flavor.
“So they say all Seophone food is awful, but even this stew is quite tasty, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is?”
“It’s because the chef isn’t from Seophone.”
Catherine spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, nodding her head.
“No matter how bad Seophone food is, it becomes decent if the chef isn’t from Seophone. Furthermore, if I remember correctly, the chef should be Hamerson’s wife.”
“His wife? The one he’s treating Sir Atanitas to?”
“Yes, Hamerson’s wife, Veronica.”
“She must be from another country then?”
Karem asked while trimming the burnt fin of the smoked herring.
“Both Hamerson and Veronica are from different countries. Not to mention, Veronica is famous for being from Bersengzeto, known for greatly valuing food.”
“Whoa, Bersengzeto?”
Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise, filled with admiration.
“That’s possible—no, I mean, that makes me expect a lot from her.”
“Yeah. The custard pie I had back then was the best I’ve ever had.”
Karem couldn’t help but feel a growing anticipation, as Catherine, having lived for hundreds of years, endorsed it so highly.
Wherever this Bersengzeto was, if someone who lived that long claimed it was the best, how delicious must it be?
But hadn’t someone said that the more you expect, the more likely you will be disappointed?
“KYAAAHHHHH!!!”
“Veronica!”
“Don’t panic! Someone go and fetch the midwife—”
Just as expectations were swelling, a scream that did not match the lively atmosphere echoed through the tavern.