“I’ll make nikujaga (t/n: meat and potato stew).”
“Master! She’s here again!”
The apprentice cook’s voice echoes through the kitchen. It is as if a monster has appeared to turn the ingredients into poison.
Something occurred to me the other day after one of my attempts to make pudding resulted in an omelette and chawanmushi. Honestly, my cooking skills aren’t good. But since I know dishes that don’t exist in this world, I should be able to complete something wonderful if I only provide the idea.
When I made pudding, I failed because I tried to recreate something I didn’t know how to make. That’s why I had to make something I knew the recipe for.
“Please make nikujaga.”
“Wow, here we go again.”
After hearing the apprentice’s screams, the head chef comes out of the kitchen. He looks at me and doesn’t even try to hide his displeasure.
He and I talk with the apprentice in between us.
“I have come up with a new recipe.”
“The pudding was an interesting idea, but…”
“That dish should be called chawanmushi (steamed egg custard). It confuses my brain. …Anyway, nikujaga.”
“Is it sweets again? Regarding sweets, I’m just an amateur, okay?”
“No, this time it’s a stew.”
“Haa… please don’t touch the ingredients and utensils, Yumiela-sama.”
Despite the no-touching order, he eventually relented.
I plan to show my skills here, but I will only offer ideas now. I plan to eliminate my bad cooking character through this series of otherworldly cuisines, starting with this nikujaga.
I enter the kitchen under the watchful eyes of the head chef, his apprentice.
Today’s recipe is for nikujaga. I chose nikujaga… because I imagine you are a good cook if you can make it.
There is a correlation between the difficulty of cooking and femininity. Cup noodles are low in difficulty and femininity. Real French cooking is ridiculously high in terms of both difficulty and femininity.
The difficulty level and femininity are proportionate. However, some dishes are set excessively high regarding femininity compared to the difficulty level. And that is nikujaga.
Although nikujaga isn’t a complex dish, if you say you are good at cooking nikujaga, you will be perceived as a family-oriented girl.
This is a bug in real life. This is like a dungeon set up incorrectly, and the reward for clearing it is too high. Until a patch is released to fix it, gamers will be running around the dungeon like demons.
But I digress. Some dishes are the opposite of nikujaga, difficult to make, but are reckoned to be less feminine. Hmm, like… roasted whole pig? At a party, if you say, “I take out the entrails and then stuff them with herbs!” I bet they’d be turned off.
Furthermore, I once discussed the cause of the meat-and-potatoes bug. This is my personal imagination, but nikujaga is a dish that one’s taste preferences can easily influence.
Strong or light, salty or sweet, the favorite seasoning varies from person to person. Asking the opposite sex you want to make nikujaga, which requires a nice concoction of soy sauce and sugar, allows you to determine whether the palates’ values match.
I drew the deduction… and presented it to my mother in my previous life.
Then she said, “If you have time to think about that, why don’t you learn to make nikujaga and serve it to your boyfriend?” I was grateful for her advice.
Since the purpose was to test the palates of both of us, it shouldn’t be a problem if the men’s side made the food. My mother tried to change the subject! It is a sneaky method!
It’s a long story, but it’s nikujaga. I’m going to make nikujaga.
While I have never made it, I know the ingredients and seasonings. And I know how to cook it. Just simmer it, right?
The chef who makes it isn’t me but the head chef, a veteran of many battles. He should be able to do the rest as long as I convey the nuances.
He is my hope, but he said, somewhat annoyed.
“First of all, what are the ingredients for this nikujaga thing?”
“Meat and potatoes. Meat can be either beef or pork.”
“Oh, so it’s just the same there. That’s a relief that we don’t need anything weird.”
When I laid out the two most common ingredients, he was relieved.
Nikujaga is a word coined by combining meat and potatoes in this world’s language, not vocalized as nikujaga in Japanese. That is why the chef said that.
Of course, the supporting characters whose names were excluded from the list are also remembered. Let’s not put in anything strange on the spur of the moment.
The goal is to make an average, ordinary nikujaga.
“And then… carrot and onion.”
“We have fresh ones of both.”
“Good. And… shirataki would be perfect.”
“Shirataki?”
“Uh… shiroi taki (white waterfall)?”
“Shiroi taki?”
Ah, sorry. He wouldn’t understand my word if I said shiroi taki or something.
From the chef’s point of view, he is presented with a mysterious word that he is unfamiliar with, and it is described as white fall. The meaning is too unintelligible.
However, I’m sad that there is no shirataki. What is that thing?
It’s a long and thin konjac… Oh, I know! The material of konnyaku is yam. It’s called konnyaku, imo.
“Shirataki is a yam.”
“…Different from a potato?”
It’s true. We’ve got potatoes and shirataki.
Let’s remove one and eliminate the one who doesn’t contribute to the nikujaga party.
“I don’t want the shirataki then. It’s not necessary.”
“Is it okay if we don’t have it? Since I don’t know what it is, I can’t judge it for myself, can I?”
“It’s not necessary. It’s fine without it. Even if it’s gone, I don’t think it will matter too much.”
I hear shirataki’s wailing and moaning resentment in my ears, but I ignore it and let it pass.
My strongest team has a policy of limiting itself to only those members with excellent race values, like beef and potatoes. We can’t accept a plain one like shirataki as a true team member.
With Shirataki out of the way, the head chef looked relieved. He doesn’t want to have someone he doesn’t know well as a team member.
“I’ll use beef for the meat. The rest is potatoes, carrots, and onions… the potatoes aren’t a garnish, are they?”
“It’s more like the meat and the potatoes are the main ingredients.”
“Then I’ll cut it all up into bite-sized pieces.”
“I can help you with the chop—”
“No. I’d like to hear how it’s cooked afterward!”
His voice suddenly became louder, and he asked me about the rest of the cooking.
Would it be better to proceed with the work only after understanding the whole picture? I’ve already explained to him how to cut the ingredients—
“All that’s left is to simmer them in a pot and season them.”
“I see. It would be better to lightly fry the meat first before boiling. Especially the potatoes, because they will lose shape if they are overcooked.”
Ah, that’s right! I remember that you are supposed to fry it before simmering it.
Seeing a professional even guess how to make the part I had forgotten was still amazing.
While I admired the dish, a delicious aroma wafted through the air. I could also hear the sizzling sound of something frying.
“What is—”
“Yes! Now, let’s check the recipe. The ingredients are beef, potatoes, carrots, and onions…
Cut them into bite-sized pieces. Heat oil in a frying pan; add the meat first, then the vegetables, and stir-fry.”
“Y-yeah.”
“And how’s that… coming along? Is it done?”
The chef has turned it into a cooking show, and my eyes are glued to the chef in amazement.
Someone presented a large iron frying pan out of my sight, seeming to be cooking something in progress from a while ago.
“And here… is the finished result.”
The apprentice looked extremely tired and out of breath on his shoulders. When I looked into the frying pan in his hand, I saw that the ingredients for the nikujaga, cut into bite-sized pieces, were also being stir-fried in just the right amount.
What is this? Is this a cooking show-like system that only gives verbal explanations and skips the process?
I’m not sure why they made it like a cooking show, but it means they were cooking at super speed right as I was explaining it to them.
Aww, I wanted to help with slashing the ingredients.
I was slightly dissatisfied, but the head chef seemed satisfied.
“All right! Well done!”
“‘Yes, thanks to Master for buying me some time.”
“Wow… you’ve grown up.”
It’s an emotional scene between a master and an apprentice. However, I wasn’t emotionally involved because there was no prior information about why they started cooking at high speed. What the heck?
“Thank you. I’ll take care of the rest—”
” Are you going to let this guy’s efforts go to waste?!”
“I’m sorry.”
The master was really angry with me.
I’m sorry. I was only trying to be helpful.
I’ll compose myself and continue the next step in the process. I won’t touch it. Since I won’t serve it, please stop getting between the pot and me and take a stand to stop Yumiela from intervening.
Move the stir-fried ingredients to the pot and add a little water. If it is not enough, you can add more later.
This is where the moment of truth begins: seasoning. The part that is the basis for nikujaga to become synonymous with femininity. It is very important.
This is where the moment of truth begins: seasoning. It is the part that makes nikujaga synonymous with femininity, which is very important.
Since I can’t touch it, I rely heavily on the taste buds of the two cooks. I trust them to make even unknown dishes delicious.
“Let me explain the seasonings. First, soy sauce and—”
“Shoyu?“
“…I’m done.”
Yes. It’s a deadlock. It is defeat. It is despair. This is an impossible bug.
There is no soy sauce. There is no miso, the base of soy sauce. There are soybeans, the raw material for miso.
No one today could make soy sauce by just putting soybeans in a bowl and saying, “Please make soy sauce.”
Wait, calm down. Think about a substitute.
In a world where soy sauce doesn’t exist, plenty of alternatives to soy sauce can be made with the wisdom of a top chef.
When I can’t think of anything, I just describe it and leave it to the head chef to hope for the best.
“You know… black, salty stuff.”
“Hmm… just in case, I’d also like to ask about other seasonings.”
“Besides soy sauce, there will be sugar in it.”
He figures he can’t get the correct answer based on the soy sauce explanation so that he will work in reverse with the other condiments!
After a moment of silent contemplation, he says.
“Uh… is demi-glace sauce okay?”
“No, no.”
“I’ve got some that I’ve been preparing since yesterday.”
“The demi-glace sauce is a little different….”
“But it goes well with these ingredients? It would be too sweet, so you probably don’t want to add sugar.”
Well, if you say so….
Demi-glace sauce and soy sauce are different. But when you think of soy sauce plus sugar, it seems closer to demi-glace regarding the balance of saltiness and sweetness.
Was soy sauce with sugar a demi-glace sauce? Imagine putting demi-glace sauce on a rice cake and eating it wrapped in seaweed—well, isn’t that edible?
“Yes, it’s good looking! Demi-glace sauce is sugar and soy sauce!”
“Yes, it’s going to be delicious.”
Good, good. The soy sauce problem was completely solved.
All I need is… oh, I completely forgot. Mirin.
Mirin. The ingredients and taste are a mystery, as I have never drunk it alone.
Mirin is an unknown mystery, but I have heard it is quite important. It’s like the bass guitarist in a band, like a support person at an adventurer’s party.
Even if it lacks a presence, it is lacking when absent.
It is common for people to ostracize a behind-the-scenes figure like bass, support staff, and mirin and then suffer terrible consequences later on.
Mirin is important. However, I have no idea what mirin is. Is it different from vinegar, or is it more like cooking sake?
Oh, come to think of it! I saw an age verification button on the internet that appeared when I tried to buy mirin at a convenience store. Oh, right, sake!
I’ve discovered what mirin is, but there is probably no mirin in this world. I wish I could find a similar substitute.
The preparation of the nikujaga has been perfect so far, so I don’t want it to be spoiled by the lack of mirin. The chef, who has answered my vague suggestions so far, should be able to suggest a substitute for mirin.
“I’d like to add some mirin… that looks like alcohol.”
“I was originally going to add red wine, but…”
“That’s it!”
Our chef is amazing.
I can’t believe he anticipated the perfect combination of nikujaga and discovered a lack of mirin.
“This is the last one. Are you sure it’s over?”
“Of course! Delicious nikujaga is ready to eat!”
The wine bottle is rotated around in a simmering pot.
Good. The nikujaga was completed in perfect steps.
The ingredients are good. I discarded the shirataki. I didn’t have soy sauce and mirin, but I could substitute demi-glace sauce and red wine.
People will be surprised when they eat this. This is a comeback victory from a place where it looked like it would fail. It is a great reversal of the Battle of the Sea of Japan class.
The kitchen was filled with appetizing smells, and the apprentice’s small voice filled the air.
“This is beef—”
“The nikujaga is ready! We will serve it at dinner. Please enjoy it, Yumiela-sama!”
Hmm? Were you trying to say something?
The master’s booming voice completely drowned out the apprentice’s faint voice. Oh well. The nikijaga were finished, and I had the professional’s seal of approval.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Enjoy, this is my own cooking idea.”
It was dinner time. Patrick and Eleanora timidly put the nikujaga in their mouths when I urged them to do so.
They gave me a simple reaction.
“It’s beef stew.”
“It’s beef stew, isn’t it?”
“What?”
There’s no way that’s true! To be sure, I also took a bite of the nikujaga. It tastes great. But—
“It’s beef stew!”
It tasted like beef stew. If you looked closely, it looked and smelled like beef stew. It wasn’t nikujaga.
Patrick looked puzzled.
“Is this Yumiera’s idea?”
“No, this is beef stew. Forget about the nikujaga.”
I was the one who came up with the beef stew! My nerves weren’t thick enough to claim that. No, I didn’t invent nikujaga, but this world has had beef stew. I can usually tell when something is a lie.
“I wondered if shirataki was the core of nikujaga.”
I could have told you the recipe was almost perfect. I substituted soy sauce with demi-glace sauce because I didn’t have soy sauce.
I thought shirataki was unnecessary, so I removed it from the dish. In other words, shirataki made the nikujaga what they were. I can hear the mocking voice of Shirataki, whom I had thrown out.
Shirataki must be very successful elsewhere by now. Let’s see… in oden and such?
While eating this delicious beef stew, I wrote down the new fact I had discovered.
If you don’t put shirataki in nikujaga, it becomes beef stew.
Of all the antics that she did, this is the one that amuses me and irk me the most xd
Thx for the chapter!
At least the kitchen is safe and it was good xD