A Tale of a Life Evolved, Yet Unchanged
“WHERE SHALL I PUT THESE things, Chesuit?”
“Aha—those’re going to my house.”
“For one of your new experiments? Please do be mindful of your consumption.”
“Yeah. The staff meals will be baguette sandwiches for a while.”
When Marin entered the kitchen, a large wooden box in her arms, Chesuit was standing in his chef’s coat, stirring a pot at the stove. Lunchtime was fast approaching, and Marin could tell he’d probably stayed in the kitchen since breakfast ended. The big pile of cut vegetables on the countertop was a dead giveaway.
“Need help?” Chesuit asked. “That must be heavy.”
“I’m all right, thank you. Shall I just leave these at your place, then?”
“Nah. Just set them down where you are. I’ll take ’em with me when I go home.”
Yulan’s private mansion, once empty and barren, had become quite a bustling place since they’d moved there with Violette. Marin had received a room next to Violette’s, as she’d requested, and the maid filled her days serving her.
It was the same for Chesuit. Yulan had given him free rein over the kitchen, so he’d had it customized to his liking—to him, it was the workplace of his dreams. He holed himself up there every day for such long hours that the bed in his room next door was collecting dust from lack of use.
After Chesuit moved in, it took about a month for his personal quarters to become overcrowded with cooking experiments conducted both for leisure and for practical purposes. When Yulan noticed that and offered Chesuit his own house, even the chef was shocked. Moreover, Yulan had an oven built in the garden, which Chesuit used with wild abandon. He was quite ingenious—as Yulan himself had, of course, been in providing those resources.
“I see you’re hard at work creating new recipes again. Lady Violette told me this reminds her of the days when you tried to give her a culinary education.”
“Ha! Right… I remember that. I don’t think she learned anything, though.”
When Chesuit was a younger chef, he’d been so confident in his abilities that he’d had a tendency to show off. Even now, he was confident. And his confidence in his early days certainly hadn’t been unwarranted. That said, the sight of Violette gagging on his cooking had been more than enough to demolish his ego. From that moment on, he’d focused not on the food he cooked but on the fact that he was a chef.
“Rather, from watching her, I learned the hard way that forcing somebody to eat isn’t love, it’s abuse.”
After a thoughtful pause, Marin remarked, “Lady Violette said she was glad you were there.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. To be honest, I was at loose ends about what to do for her.”
Though Chesuit had eventually managed to cook a variety of foods that Violette could eat, those recipes had actually only been a succession of wild guesses. Even the worst gunman would hit his target if he fired enough times, so Chesuit had shot in the dark with sheer desperation. Luckily, he’d discovered foods that she liked, but he shuddered to think what would’ve become of her if he hadn’t.
“What sort of cuisine do you hope to make this time? I know you’ve been testing Sinan recipes.”
“I want to increase my repertoire of dishes that can be eaten with one hand.”
Marin set the wooden box down behind Chesuit. He handed her a spoon over his shoulder, and she licked it without preamble. A tangy taste immediately filled her mouth. Looking onto the counter in front of Chesuit, she saw red rice; she also smelled a delicious aroma in the air.
Apparently, she’d just tried some chicken and rice. That meant they were eating omelet rice for lunch.
“You seasoned it a bit differently than usual,” she remarked.
“Well, yeah. For the young master.”
“You adjust the seasonings for each person?”
As a rule, meals in this house were prepared to Violette’s liking, and Yulan never complained. That made sense, since he’d ordered them to cater to Violette’s palate. Chesuit generally avoided sweeter flavors, though, since Yulan didn’t care for them. Yet the young lord insisted that, as long as he didn’t have to eat dessert, he was fine with anything.
“The young master always eats everything on his plate, but he doesn’t seem to enjoy meals.”
Marin frowned thoughtfully. “You know, you’re right.”
Whenever she watched Yulan, the memory of a girl green in the face flickered in the back of her mind. Marin never dreamed the day would come when she would’ve preferred that girl look away with a grimace.
“Anyway, I decided this dish was a good compromise, so I wanted to do it justice.”
“That’s why you’ve been testing out all sorts of flavors?”
“Nothing inspires me more than trying to please a harsh judge. Especially the young master—he doesn’t mince words. He’s the best foe a guy could ask for.”
“And you’re the only servant who could speak about his master that way, Chesuit.”
“A job’s easy when one’s master is so tolerant.”
Even while talking, Chesuit continued working. Before long, a fluffy rice-filled omelet sat on the counter in front of him. He presented the beautifully plated omelet rice matter-of-factly to Marin.
“Wasn’t this for Lord Yulan?”