Sizzle, the sound of the chicken being lowered into the oil.
The pleasant sound filled the small shop, and Bertholdt couldn’t help but swallow.
Using so much oil to deep-fry something was quite a luxury. Normally, people would just push the oil to one side of a frying pan, somewhere between frying and pan-frying.
But here, in this shop…
Chunks of chicken swam in a pool of oil, being fried leisurely.
“Still,” Bertholdt muttered, “I wonder how it tastes.”
Taisho smiled with just his eyes, clearly confident in this dish.
Even so, the main ingredient was still chicken.
Whether it was thigh meat or breast meat, the spent chicken sold in the old capital’s markets was tough. Just soaking it in something for a bit and then frying it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Bertholdt’s reason told him so, and yet.
TN: Spent chickens are older hens that are no longer laying eggs, hence are considered lower quality and tougher meat. They’re commonly used in canned soups which is why Campbell’s soup chicken is a bit tough despite being overcooked.
And yet, the sound and smell were just unfair. Even the occasional crackle of the oil was stimulating his stomach.
Not yet? Not yet?
As if his prayers were answered, the Taisho began to pull the chicken from the oil.
But he didn’t place it on a plate.
As Bertholdt watched in confusion, the Taisho put the chicken back into the oil.
“What, wasn’t it fried enough?”
“No, sir. It’s called ‘double-frying’. The oil’s a bit hotter this time.”
Kara kara kara kara kara.
The sound was definitely different from before.
Bertholdt didn’t know what it meant, but he could feel the passion put into the cooking.
It wasn’t just about making food edible.
It was about serving something delicious.
“Alright, here you go. Young chicken karaage.”
“Young chicken karaage, you say.”
Next to the fried chicken was some fruit. Perhaps it was a dessert. Bertholdt appreciated the thoughtful touch. It was surely the Taisho’s way of looking out for customers after eating something oily.
Well then, time to try it.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
“Yeah.”
Bertholdt stabbed a large piece with his fork.
Juice began to seep from the crispy coating. He brought it to his mouth.
Crunch.
The moment he bit into it, Bertholdt knew he was defeated.
The outside was crisp, the inside was soft and fluffy.
The overflowing juice was rich, containing the full flavor of the chicken.
“Delicious!”
Bertholdt immediately went for the next piece.
It was hot.
But it was delicious.
He didn’t care if he slightly burned his mouth.
This wasn’t the toughness of spent chicken. It was tender, yet not weak in flavor.
He then remembered and reached for his Toriaezu Nama.
He had ordered a “chicken dish that goes well with ale” from the Taisho.
There was no way that this wouldn’t pair well.
He took a bite of the karaage and washed it down with ale.
…It went perfectly.
This was a meeting of destiny.
Just as a hero and a princess in a knight’s tale were drawn to each other, the karaage and the Toriaezu Nama were destined to meet here.
He glanced next to him and saw Hans enjoying his own portion of karaage.
He really wanted to eat Hans’ share as well, but he wasn’t so childish as to do that.
Still, it was delicious.
No wonder it had become a popular rumor amongst the soldiers.
As he ate one piece, then another, a small sense of unease began to creep into Bertholdt’s mind.
…There were only two left. Once he ate them, this miraculous encounter with the karaage would be over.
He could even call it a feeling of loneliness.
He savored the last piece, basking in the aftertaste.
It was delicious.
An indescribable sense of satisfaction enveloped the battle-hardened Bertholdt.
This, this was what food was all about.
Now, he would try the Taisho’s thoughtful dessert. He reached for the half-cut yellow citrus, but Bertholdt’s battle experience told him something was off.
What was it? What was wrong?
He glanced over at Hans. Hans had eaten half of his karaage and was squeezing the citrus on the remaining piece.
“Hey, Hans.”
“Yes? Captain, I mean, Bertholdt-san.”
“That fruit there…”
“It’s lemon. Didn’t you put it on your karaage, Bertholdt-san?”
“…Lemon? You put it on?”
Hans squeezed the lemon in front of the bewildered Bertholdt.
“You put lemon on it to make the karaage lighter and easier to eat.”
“W-what did you say…”
Bertholdt looked down at his own plate, even though he knew the answer.
Of course, there was no karaage left.
“…Hans.”
“Bertholdt-san, even if you use that deep voice, I won’t share. This is my portion.”
“But still…”
“Bertholdt-san, you ate your whole plate, didn’t you?”
Bertholdt groaned and just then, Shinobu returned saying, “I found the rakkyo!”
TN: Rakkyo being the pickled onions from last chapter.
“Oh, good. That’s great. We’re mostly ready here too.”
Leaning forward a bit, Bertholdt saw that the Taisho was, of all things, dipping those crispy karaage into something thick and gooey. That would ruin their crispiness.
“Taisho, what is that!”
“What, this? It’s chicken nanban. It’s makanai for me and Shinobu-chan.”
TN: Chicken Nanban is karaage (Japanese fried chicken) coated in a sweet and sour sauce and topped with tartar sauce.
Chicken Nanban?
Makanai?
TN: Makanai means staff meal, the meal you cook for employees at a restaurant as opposed to the ones you serve customers.
He didn’t understand what they were saying, but he got the feeling that it wasn’t a dish for customers.
Thwump, the karaage, now coated in a sweet and sour smelling liquid, was then topped with a white, chunky sauce.
It was like magic.
The karaage was already delicious. It was a pinnacle of completion on its own.
But to add something to it, making it look even more delicious…
“Taisho… I’m sorry, but…”
“Sir, even if you use that deep voice, I won’t share. This is my portion.”
“Then, Shinobu-san.”
“No way. I love chicken nanban!”
Shinobu, with the dish already plated, grabbed a piece of chicken nanban with her fingers and bit into it. A bit of the sauce on her lips was just a charming accident.
“Mmm, yum! Taisho’s chicken nanban is the best!”
“Right? This rakkyo gives it an extra kick!”
Watching Shinobu lick the sauce off her lips so unceremoniously, Bertholdt quietly decided that he would become a regular here.