“Ah, Oden, you say?”
T/N: Oden is a Japanese winter dish consisting of various ingredients such as boiled eggs, daikon radish, fish cakes, konjac, and potatoes, stewed in a light, savory broth.
“…Do you know about it, Nicolaus?” Hans asked, looking at Nicolaus’s knowing expression.
“Nope, not a clue.”
As they were having that exchange, a large soup bowl was placed in front of them.
The ingredients were huge.
This feels more like a stew than a soup, Hans thought to himself. With the cold wind blowing outside, a stew was a welcome sight.
The name “Oden” also had a hint of a name of a northern, foreign god. Could it be that this was a traditional dish from a cold region?
TN: He’s referring to Odin from Norse mythology of course.
“Oden, huh. This is egg, this is potato. Is there no sausage? That’s delicious when it’s stewed too,” said Hans, to which Taisho grinned.
“Sausage, huh? Yeah, that is good. But not today. Instead, I’ll put this in.”
Saying that, he placed a skewer with meat onto Hans’s bowl.
Hans had no idea what the other ingredients were or what they were made of. They just seemed like some soft, unidentifiable items.
The gentle aroma of the clear broth tickled his nose. He had never smelled anything like it before.
“Alright, let’s eat!”
Urged on by Nicolaus, Hans hesitated with his fork.
Which one to eat? Which one first?
Should he start with what he knows, or the unknown?
Hans targeted the thin, cylindrical ingredient and slowly inserted his fork.
The fork went in with almost no resistance. It must be well-soaked in the broth. The color had penetrated it thoroughly.
He tentatively put it in his mouth, and it fell apart easily.
It was hot. But delicious.
“Oh, that’s daikon radish. It’s well-soaked, right?” said Taisho.
“Hah, um, hah, delicious.”
What was daikon? He didn’t know. But it was delicious.
After sweating from training, this warmth on his cold body, how could it not be great?
His stomach felt warmed right through to the core, and his body relaxed from within.
The black, wiggly konjac had a surprising chewiness.
The meltingly rich flavor of the gyusuji beef tendon on the skewer.
And the chikuwa fishcake that had thoroughly soaked up the broth.
TN: Chikuwa is a type of Japanese fish cake, often shaped like a tube. Konnyaku is a firm, jelly-like food made from the konjac plant.
And then…
“…Potato, huh.”
This, no matter how it’s cooked, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be that delicious.
Boiled, baked, steamed, fried, it was already a taste that was ingrained in Hans’s body.
For twenty years since his birth. Every single day, since he stopped suckling on his mother’s breast, he had eaten this chunk of food. Now, simply simmering it in a slightly delicious broth wouldn’t change its flavor that much, he thought.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like potatoes?” Taisho peered into Hans’s bowl with suspicion.
“No. I’ve just eaten it so much, I’m used to it. I was wondering if it might dilute the impact of the Oden,” Hans replied.
“Hmm. Then, how about you try adding this?”
He smeared some bright yellow paste onto the edge of Hans’s bowl.
The aroma was familiar. It was mustard.
“Mustard? You put mustard on potatoes?”
“Well, it’s more like karashi. Just try it.”
TN: Karashi is Japanese mustard, often spicier than western mustard.
Hans knew mustard well.
It was a condiment with a slight spiciness and sourness used to mask the smell of meat. Putting it on potatoes was new to him, but he could imagine how it would taste, more or less.
Feeling a little underwhelmed, Hans put the karashi-covered potato in his mouth.
“Huh, wha? Hmm?”
It was spicy. It was a sharp, pungent spiciness that went right to his nose. This wasn’t mustard.
And the potato.
It was fluffy, sweet, and delicious… And it went so well with the karashi spiciness.
What was this?
“See? Potatoes are good, right?”
Nodding in agreement, Hans took another bite of the potato.
Spicy. Delicious. Spicy. Delicious.
This wasn’t a potato. It was something else entirely, fluffy and wonderful.
He looked over to Nicolaus, trying to share his excitement, but Nicolaus was just grinning and sipping something. It wasn’t from a mug, but from a small, unglazed cup.
“Nicolaus, what is that?”
“Ah, this is Atsukan. It goes great with oden.”
TN: Atsukan is hot sake.
“Atsukan? Taisho, I’ll have the same thing!”
“Alright, one hot sake, coming right up!”
Looking rather happy and pleased, Taisho started preparing the hot sake, a smile playing on his lips.
The faint scent of alcohol was neither from ale, wine, nor yodo – a type of liquor that Hans seemed to know about.
TN: Yodo (ヨード) translates to iodine so unsure if he’s referring to a liquor or that some liquor he knows about smells like iodine…
“Here you go.”
What he brought was a long-necked ceramic bottle and a small, unglazed cup.
Hans carefully poured the warm liquid, careful not to spill it.
It was fragrant.
The clear, transparent sake, with an indescribable aroma, was reminiscent of the nectar of legends.
He took a sip.
As he swallowed it down, a feeling of gentle intoxication spread through his head.
It was strong.
Was this fire water?
No, it was different. It wasn’t harsh like fire water.
It was warm, and yet, clear and powerful. A taste that could be described as a calm strength traveled down his throat. What a flavor!
He put some of the potato with karashi in his mouth.
And then washed it down with atsukan…
An indescribable, exquisite symphony of flavors unfolded in his mouth.
There was only happiness, something beyond words, in that moment.
When he came to, his oden bowl was empty, and he had finished off both atsukan and toriaezu nama that he had ordered additionally.
A comfortable feeling of drunkenness and euphoria.
Had there ever been a dinner so happy before?
“That will be one-quarter silver coin,” said the waitress.
As Hans handed her a half silver coin, he was perplexed.
Was it really only one-quarter silver coin for all that he had eaten and drunk?
“Is it… isn’t it a bit too cheap?”
When Hans said that, the waitress smiled softly. Her dimples were adorable.
“Your satisfied face is the best payment we could ask for.”
Hans was walking slowly along the road to the barracks, taking his time and letting out a sigh.
Seeing this, Nicolaus grinned.
“Shall I guess why you sighed?”
“Quiet. It’s none of your business.”
Whether Hans’s face was red only from the alcohol, or something else entirely.
In the sky, a round moon, like an oden potato, hung in the air.
