Red.
So very red.
The entire serving of noodles, completely red.
“Fräulein, (young lady) what exactly is this?”
He enunciated each word carefully, adding a touch of intimidation to his tone. Gernot had certainly ordered a pasta dish, or so he believed.
“Sir, this is spaghetti. Napolitan,” the waitress retorted, not backing down, with a dazzling smile no less. Quite the impressive spirit she had.
Not intimidated, exactly, but Gernot lowered his gaze to his own plate.
Indeed, red.
This red was likely from the red tomatoes he hadn’t had in ages.
Still, so very red.
Even in the southern empire where Gernot grew up, he had never seen spaghetti so uniformly red. Even minced meat Bolognese or puttanesca styled for courtesans were designed with a more subdued sense of color.
The toppings were quite simple.
Bell peppers, onions, and bacon. In the empire where vegetables were scarce, the green of the bell peppers was both nostalgic and welcome. The bacon, unexpectedly, wasn’t a meager thin cut, but a generous thick slice.
“Oh, did you notice? That thick-cut bacon is the master’s late-night snack,” she said.
Gearnot nodded, understanding. If it was something the shop owner intended for his own evening enjoyment, the thickness made sense.
That being said, to have such a luxurious snack on hand, they must be doing well.
Such an extravagant lifestyle should be discouraged. It could be grounds for a tax audit.
While mulling over these thoughts, he brought the spaghetti to his mouth.
Sweet?
No, it wasn’t merely sweet.
The sweetness and acidity of the red tomatoes were exquisitely intertwined with the noodles.
The cooking was also perfect.
Just a hint of a firm center, cooked just so.
This waitress, despite her appearance, was not to be underestimated.
And yet, he couldn’t stop.
In a way, the overall flavor was rather childish.
Not something that someone like Gernot, a member of the city council, should be eating.
Yet, he couldn’t stop.
What was this “sticky” deliciousness that was spreading throughout his mouth?
“Ah, sir, would you like cheese and Tabasco with that?”
“Cheese and… Tabasco?”
“Yes, I’ll leave them here for you.”
The waitress placed two containers before him.
A green cylindrical container and a small red glass bottle. The cylinder appeared to contain grated cheese.
Taking a small portion, he tried it with the grated cheese.
Delicious.
Indeed, the person who thought of this combination was a genius.
He must be an acclaimed chef, deserving of a recommendation to a seat on the city council.
Then, for the other one.
If the waitress was to be believed, she had called it “Tabasco”.
Gearnot, cautiously, sprinkled the contents of the bottle onto the spaghetti Napolitan.
Life.
The universe.
The answer to everything.
In that instant, Gearnot received an apocalypse.
A harmony of sweet, sour, and spicy spread throughout his mouth.
The mixed flavors were enhanced with the bitterness of the bell peppers, the mellowness of the onions, and the richness of the thick-cut bacon.
This was a miracle.
The agape, the divine love brought to earth.
A holy text, disguised in the form of spaghetti.
Not minding the sauce smearing around his mouth, Gernot devoured the spaghetti Napolitan.
What an encounter, what a joy.
Before he knew it, his plate was empty.
He felt ashamed that he thought the taste childish at the beginning.
It was indeed a taste to remind him of his forgotten childhood. That was the purpose of this pasta dish.
And that magnificent flavor.
The unified taste revealed the wonder of life, the preciousness of the universe.
Even the now-empty white plate seemed to teach the fleeting nature of life.
“U-uh, sir… you ate it really fast, were you that hungry?”
“Hmm? Ah, that’s not it. No, it was a truly delicious spaghetti. Thank you, Fräulein.”
Saying so, Gernot took out his wallet and pulled out a large gold coin.
“Ah, a gold coin? I don’t have nearly that much change…”
“I don’t need the change.”
“Eh? But, um…”
“Well, I will take my leave.”
“Are you not waiting for the master of the shop?”
“It’s fine. I’m done with this shop.”
With that, Gernot turned his back and quietly left.
He would give up his job that was the source of resentment from so many. He could donate his savings and maybe… go back home.
He pondered these things as he walked.
It seemed as though the people he passed were smiling at him.
It was a very good day.
“He left…”
Shinobu retracted the paper napkin she was about to offer him.
She had thought that he might be laughed at for having so much ketchup around his mouth, but decided that it was better to keep that as a cherished thought.