“No. I can’t allow that. You’re desecrating food. That’s punishable by death,” she said.
“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” I asked.
“You’d be guilty of contempt of food. Unforgivable,” she said, condemning me with her made-up criminal law.
“But I brought it just for this occasion,” I protested.
“I’ll take it from you even if I have to kill you.”
“Again, that’s a bit much!”
“That ghost clam will taste better if you just cook it normally,” said Scrae.
“That’s true, but— Wait, have you tried these with soy sauce?” I asked.
“Ah! I haven’t! Let’s try it! Right now! Gimme that!” said Scrae as she excitedly reached for the ghost clams.
“Wh-Whoa! Hold on!”
“I’ll take it from you even if—”
“Enough of that! And calm down! I have more.”
I took my spare ghost clam out of the cooler box in my Dimension Bag, then Scrae placed a few silver coins on the table.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said.
“To be honest, I want to buy your entire stock,” said Scrae.
“That would ruin today’s plans,” I said.
“You shouldn’t perform such a blasphemous ritual. Don’t do it.”
She went as far as to call my challenge “blasphemous.” Was it going to lower the sanity of whoever was going to witness it or something? Maybe with a critical failure on a 1d6? Would they go crazy when they discover the truth? The soup did seem like it could’ve been made by an elephant statue from the Call of Cthulhu game.
Scrae put a wire rack on the cassette stove and began grilling the ghost clam on it. She stared as it cooked slowly, drool running down the side of her mouth. It was strange how this pretty girl became so dopey whenever food was involved.
“This will definitely taste delicious with shoy sauce,” she said.
She was right; shellfish always went well with soy sauce. This is the law of the universe.
After being heated for some time, the clam opened wide. Scrae immediately poured soy sauce on it, and the sauce bubbled on the piping hot shell and released a fragrant aroma into the air.
“Ahhh...” breathed Scrae in ecstasy.
She could eat three bowls of rice with the smell of cooked clam and soy sauce alone.
She picked up the hot ghost clam with gloved hands and placed it on a big plate. The juices from the clam, mixed with soy sauce, formed a sort of soup, and there was a ridiculous amount of that, maybe even too much. The soup alone could’ve been a dish in itself.
Scrae scooped some of it with a spoon and tasted it.
“Yum!” she exclaimed.
She then cut off a piece of clam meat and put it in her mouth, then—silence. She simply repeated the process, cutting off a piece of clam meat and eating it with intense, single-minded concentration. Anyone who interrupted her now would need to prepare to eat her entire arsenal of Jinshu techniques. Not a single speck would be left of any poor fool who dared get in her way. She’d probably incinerate them with Erupting God Finger or something.
Anyway, the clam looked delicious. The juices that seeped out as she cut it looked incredibly appetizing.
I knew Scrae wouldn’t be back for a while, so I plotted to desecrate the food while she was busy. I took the ghost clam, which I’d already rinsed and purged of sand, placed it in a pot, then filled the pot with water. I boiled the bivalve to make some stock, then I added the main ingredient: Mystery Porridge. Finally, I threw in some chopped green onions and announced, “I will now add miso, an ingredient made from fermented soybeans!”
“That’s another new seasoning,” said Scrae.
“It’s something like the stuff that gets squeezed out when making soy sauce,” I explained.
“It’s related to shoy sauce?” she asked.
“Yeah, something like that.”
That was a pretty lazy explanation, but it seemed good enough for Scrae. She scooped some miso with her finger and licked it. Just like the time I’d first introduced soy sauce to her, her actions made me wonder if she was secretly Japanese. Her reaction was similar this time too, and she contentedly said, “I like this too.” If I’d brought some cucumbers here, they would’ve likely vanished in a matter of seconds.
“You’re gonna put this stuff in the pot?” she asked.
“Yep,” I said.
“That’s your second offense. You’re going to prison.”
“I’m already convicted?!”
As we went back and forth for a while, I added the miso to the porridge and mixed it around. My ghost clam Mystery Porridge miso congee was complete.
“It’s ready!” I said.
“It’s done... I’ve failed my people by allowing this sacrilege to happen,” lamented Scrae.
“Says the one who was too busy eating a clam. Anyway, let’s eat,” I said.
“I’ll bet on the million-in-one—no, billion-in-one chance that it turned out good.” Scrae put her hands together as if in prayer.
I wasn’t against making bets with bad odds, but as a plebeian who wasn’t big on taking risks, I preferred to avoid them.
We each scooped some porridge and ate it.
“It’s not good.” I heard her say, and I agreed.
“At least it’s edible now,” I said.
“It’s just edible,” she said. “You’ve killed the ingredients. You’ve murdered them. You’ve deliberately destroyed all their good qualities. You must have a grudge against them.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I said.
It was as if all that delicious soup from the clam had vanished like magic simply by adding it to the porridge. If I were to be put on trial for this, no lawyer would be able to get me out of this mess, and I’d have no choice but to jump into an instrument case. I could never increase my earnings by crashing into a dresser ever again. I hadn’t expected the taste to get completely killed simply by adding the Mystery Porridge. It was far more formidable than I’d expected.
“Are you gonna eat it?” asked Scrae.
“M-Maybe we’ll save it for later,” I said. It was pretty pathetic of me, I know.
I wanted to get the taste out of my mouth, so I threw my last ghost clam in a pot of water, then added miso to it as the water turned cloudy.
“You should’ve done this from the beginning,” pointed out Scrae.
“Well, you aren’t wrong, but that would’ve been so ordinary,” I said.
“If you seek stimulation in food, all you’ll get is regret.”
“Ugh, I don’t like spicy food so I can’t disagree,” I said.
I put the miso soup into two bowls, and we each had a taste.
“Mmm,” said Scrae.
“Ah, can’t go wrong with miso soup with clams,” I said.
It was a wonder how something this delicious could end up so much worse after adding porridge. Cooking was hard.
Scrae’s ears twitched happily. She seemed to be in a good mood as she sipped more miso soup. After we finished our soup, Scrae looked at the leftover porridge mix, and her expression fell visibly.
“What are we gonna do with this?” she asked.
“I’m not sure... Want some?” I asked.
“No, that would ruin my palate all over again.”
“Thought so. I’ll finish it,” I said.
I made it, so I had to take responsibility. But just as I was about to give up, a familiar face showed up at the perfect time.
“Oh, hey, Ricky. Nice timing!”
And so, we seemed to need much more time to make the Mystery Porridge more palatable.
What had happened to Ricky, you asked? I felt sorry for him, but I’d had him feel the same despair I had. I’d given him some of my leftover clam miso soup and a few bottles of cola as a token of apology, so he was probably fine. That wouldn’t be considered an act of terrorism...I think.