Where’s the Lamb Sauce?!
If I were one of the servants, I would have been bummed. Not that I would say anything, of course. But spending most of the morning clearing out the mess at the castle’s front grounds, putting away the tables and chairs and having to put them back again before sunset? Frustrating.
After finding Hanni and Jibel going at it by the barracks, I was left without anything to do. My first actual free time in weeks. I observed the two, grateful that Cheki had his back at me. Every boy dreams of fighting with swords and shields, rescuing girls, and saving the castle. I had no doubt Jibel had them. I also had no doubt Hanni would tire of his questions soon enough. So I did what anyone in my shoes would do. I went to the kitchens to prepare them lunch.
I passed by the servants who were once again decorating the grounds. It was much like the day before, only this time there were people from the church directing the arrangement. Instead of a semicircle around a central part, there were just several rows of tables far from the center. A square area was being decorated with flowers. I assumed that was where the pyre would be.
Aside from the never-ending smoke that came out of it, there really wasn’t much about the kitchens from the outside. It was, as Jibel rightly pointed out, seemingly out of place being built out instead of inside the castle. It was also built next, if not into the castle walls. If its size was any indication however, it would be a large operation.
The cook and the staff at the kitchen eyed me curiously when I declared what I wanted to do. I couldn’t blame them. Nobles and royalty, it seemed, never touched the stoves in this world, in Silaron at least. Here comes someone they were told was a noble, or someone important, garbed in clothes much cheaper looking than what they wore, and he wants to prepare his own food. Unheard of.
I didn’t prepare something fancy, I did make a show of it. I was in the kingdom’s kitchen after all. While I called for ingredients that I knew: dli, mur, and pasn, I also had one of the maids line up all the other spices they had. Another joined her. I might have been over my head.
My head spun with all the samples and names of each. I tasted each that I didn’t recognize. While the selection was certainly impressive, my unsophisticated palate already gave up trying to identify each taste by the sixth sample. Only two, dried spices, stood out- ispin and sempe. Ispin was chili. I’m not a big fan of spicy food but being reintroduced to it here after many months, the feeling was like finding gold. Sempe was mint but without the bitter aftertaste. It did leave a kind of dryness on the tongue, like saliva just stopped producing.
The minty herb led me to ask about their sweets. There were also many types. In the end, I just settled for the one that had a fruity aroma. I asked one of the maids to boil tea leaves and add it as a sweetener. Infused with a bit of sempe, of course. Then, I asked for samples of their preserves. The cook looked like I insulted him.
“Lord… our duty is to serve the freshest and only the freshest.”
“You’re telling me that the no royal or noble in the castle has ever eaten dried fish? Or meat? Or anything pickled?”
“Yes Lord.”
“Really?”
“As long as I’ve been cook, and the cooks before me, Lord.”
Ah, another custom that doesn’t make sense.
Dried meat wasn’t preferred. This I could understand. It was seen as a last effort to preserve meat. Commoners usually either sold their livestock or made an agreement in advance with their neighbors before slaughter. Transporting meat across large distances means it would be brined. Salting wasn’t an option if it could be avoided because of the cost. In ideal cases, this would make dried meat’s price to be exorbitant. With this new information, I finally learned why the practice was uncommon. The rest of the examples was just too unbelievable.
Where did Litoc get all those dried meat?
“That’s a stupid rule though, isn’t it?”
“Lord?”
“What if I want something salty when it’s cold or raining? Or sweet and refreshing when it’s hot, like today! Spices aren’t usually fresh. You use them. Flour is not fresh. Why not just bite the damn animal and eat the crop from their stalks while they’re at it!”
I heard some maids snort at my little display. The cook pursed his lips but his nostrils flared.
“Damn those rules,” I continued, “I know you keep some here. Can I have a taste?”
The cook shifted uncomfortably but nodded to those who were attending us. Moments later, I had several bowls on the table to sample. Understandably, the majority of them were either sour or salty. If salt was expensive, anything sweet was several tiers above it. I called for a bowl pickled silwa after finishing the samplers. Its orangey sweetness infused with just enough sourness tasted perfect in my tongue.
Since the cook boasted about it, I called for the freshest, fattiest, and tenderest cut of meat they had that wasn’t fowl. I prepared my produce and spices and asked for their bread. I was going to make sandwiches, Osea’s very own nembil subi.
Perhaps because we skipped it when we started selling, I almost forgot about gravy. Once again, the cook looked shocked.
“You heard me. I know you save them. Drippings domi, the fattier the better.”
He asked one of the two remaining maids attending us to get what I was asking for. She returned with a pan that looked like it was due for a wash. It also looked perfect.
“… and then milk, then more fat if needed, until thick.”
“And salt and dli. And, Aiela was it?” She nodded. “Make sure there is no water in the pan before you start adding flour.”
“Yes Lord. Until brown, Lord.”
The cook observed while I continued preparing my ingredients. When I paused to allow the meat some time after seasoning, I remembered something.
“What kind of nuts do you have?”
“We have all kinds Lord.”
“How many?”
“Seven, I think.”
“Seven?” I was surprised. “Fresh or dried.”
“Both Lord.”
“Have a quarter of a bowl each kind of dried nut roasted lightly. Add salt and a little oil halfway through, just enough to coat them.”
“Roasted Lord? Together?”
“Yes. In a pan.”
I was curious about why that seemed surprising to him. So I asked him after he sent another maid to do it, while I sliced vegetables. Apparently, it wasn’t a practice. Nuts were primarily used for oil or flour. The steamed nuts sold at Osea’s market were, in the cook’s words, rejects. Unsuitable for making flour or oil.
“Ever had dipti?” I asked while I prepared the pan for searing.
“Yes Lord. It is common.”
“Why is it so bland? It’s like barely sweetened sand.”
“Ah, you must have had the cheap imitations plied on market streets.”
“I thought of that but it doesn’t explain why it’s so bland.”
“Real dipti comes from Muken, Lord. I find that although the cooking process is almost the same anywhere, the use of ingredients vary.”
“In what way?”
“Cheap dipti uses leftovers from making oil. Those who do that also make inferior oil.”
“So, in trying to make the most out of one, you’re saying they produce nothing of note.”
“In a way. But oil is oil, it still sells. Or can be used at home, Lord.”
“Do you know how to make proper dipti?”
“Yes Lord, but it takes days.”
“I’ll be here for at least two more. Is that enough time?”
“That’s close, Lord. I will get right on to it after we’re done.”
I had a mind to dismiss him then. I really did want to taste what real dipti tasted like but I was curious about how he’d react to what I was making so I let him stay. He watched me like a hawk, even more keenly than Fraku did at Stakk-taran. In stark contrast to Fraku whose eyes grew wider as the costs went higher, the cook was more observant of the steps. When I set the meat aside after cooking and began putting the greens on toasted bread, he was nodding to himself.
“What?” I asked, interested in what he was thinking.
“Pardon me for watching Lord-”
“Scrap that nonsense. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Well, it wasn’t making any sense at first, Lord. Not in here. We only on serve fresh, you see, so we do not heat up bread, or slices of it like you’re doing.”
“And?”
“And now that you’re putting them together, fresh vegetables like that, Lord, and the meat I’m assuming, it would… hold? I think?”
Thank you Youtube!
“Correct. But you still have questions.”
“I’m assuming, Lord, that the meat also goes in there. Why didn’t you slice it first?”
“Because, if you noticed, the meat was cooked fast, in high fire. If I cooked it through what would happen?”
“It will be charred? Tougher?”
“Yes. And the point of this dish is to have a juicy bite every time. That’s why I didn’t cook it through. But it’s still cooking.”
The first maid I asked to make tea arrived with a cup.
“Add some more syrup to it, then prepare a large pitcher and four cups for me, will you?” She bowed and withdrew.
“By letting it sit you’re allowing it to cook, without drying out.” The cook spoke, almost to himself.
Man knows his stuff.
I smiled at him. The second maid arrived with a bowl and a spoon. The gravy was a lot better than what I came up with back in Osea.
“This is perfect, Aiela. Please prepare two bowls for me.”
She blushed, did a short bow, and withdrew.
Just as I was finishing up slicing the pickled silwa, the last maid approached with a saucer of roasted nuts. They were unevenly roasted; some had traces of burning. I tasted each type – long and flat, round and small, some looked like peas, others like kernels. Smaller ones were the ones that were burnt, the thick ones didn’t have a crunch. I realized my mistake.
“These are perfect too. Please prepare two bowls.” I said, smiling at the maid.
She stood there awkwardly for a time before withdrawing like she was about to burst in giggles. By the time I was putting the last toasted bread on top of the fourth sandwich, maids had already come back. I have prepared four sandwiches because there were four of us. Well, three, plus Cheki. I decided to share with the cook and the three maids, cutting two in half.
“First without, then with this.” I pointed to the bowl of gravy.
The cook went for it first, the three ladies followed shyly, one after the other. Their expressions were more telling than the cook’s.
“But it’s so simple.” He muttered.
“What do you mean but?”
“I mean no disrespect, Lord. It’s just that it’s easy to make and yet…”
“Yes?”
“It’s good. It’s really good! ‘Mlon,I can serve an army with this. In no time!”
“Good enough for a king?”
“I… I’m not sure about that.”
“Because of the pickled silwa?”
“And the drippings, Lord.”
“Can’t complain if they don’t know. Know what? I’ll come back before midafternoon, let’s make some and serve it to Jakeli and his friends. For now, Aiela, can you help me bring these to my companions?”
“Yes Lord.” Aiela replied readily.
“Lord are you… are you serious? You’d serve the new king this?”
As I thought, the three-month period was just a formality. If all goes well, that is.
“Yes. Nembil subi never disappoints.”
“Is that what it’s called, Lord.”
“That’s the name Osea gave it.”
“This is from Osea? This?”
“You find that so hard to believe. Why?”
“Osea is not known for anything, Lord. It’s just a town to the east.”
“Well, it is now.” I replied with a smile as I departed with the maid.