🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 53
Nine Breads. Dung Is Dung, It Can’t Become Soybean Paste (3)
“Why are you doing this! Please don’t!”
“No, there’s no need to refuse!”
Why was he telling me not to refuse when I clearly disliked it? Ellie frowned in distaste, and the head chef stepped forward to explain.
“Thanks to you, we realized just how narrow-minded we were. Honestly, we thought—what could a woman possibly do? We believed there was no place for a woman in this kitchen. We badmouthed you a lot, saying you were acting high and mighty even though you knew nothing, just because of whoever was backing you.”
“Well, you’re being awfully honest.”
He was so brazen that Ellie couldn’t even get angry.
“But your boldness in teaching us recipes without hesitation, your unheard-of fresh ideas, and the amazing results… we couldn’t help but be impressed.”
Ellie couldn’t hide her discomfort. After all, those weren’t her ideas. They came from remembering her past life. She felt uneasy, like she had stolen someone else’s work and passed it off as her own.
“So, in reflection and respect, we’ve decided to call you ‘teacher.’”
“There’s no need for that. I can only make bread and desserts. I don’t know a single one of the wonderful dishes you all make. It’s just a different field, that’s all.”
“I work in the kitchen too, and I’ve even become head chef, but I still can’t bring myself to share my own signature recipes with others. That’s not something easy to do.”
“Well, I never intended to keep them all to myself anyway… If you want to use them, you’re free to.”
“What? Truly?”
“Yes, as much as you like.”
Truthfully, Ellie wished they’d copy her bread recipes rather than desserts, but without a proper levain starter, baking bread here wasn’t easy.
And though she had given permission, no one in this kitchen could actually use her recipes for business. They had strict orders never to leak anything learned from Ellie.
Unaware of that, Ellie straightened a little, feeling bolder. She had been unsure how to ask for their cooperation, but this was her chance.
“Then, could I borrow a few ingredients?”
What she wanted to make was tortillas.
Ellie always tried to prepare her meals sincerely, but on busy or tiring days, she naturally turned to convenience food. Since there weren’t always leftovers or rejects available, tortillas were the perfect quick meal.
“Flour, cooking oil, milk, warm water, salt…”
And the substitute baking powder she had brought along.
Even while running Cookie Walking and cooking classes to deathly exhaustion, Ellie never stopped her search for proper baking powder. Mixing baking soda with lemon juice was a poor, unreliable substitute.
Baking soda expanded sideways, while baking powder expanded upwards, so the color, taste, and size were never satisfactory.
Busy as she was, she pestered Edmund until he found her tartaric acid. With wine and grape products so developed here, she figured it must exist in the market. Mixing baking soda, tartaric acid, and cornstarch, she finally managed to make baking powder—after countless failed attempts to find the right ratio.
The ingredients were simple, but the taste would not be.
“If it’s not too much trouble, could you also make some carrot juice or juice from green vegetables?”
“…What on earth are you planning to make?”
“You’ll see. I’ll show you how to eat it before I go.”
Ellie quickly mixed the ingredients into dough. The green, orange, and white dough soon showed off a smooth, glossy texture.
Kneading dough was always a stress reliever.
She rolled small portions thin with a rolling pin, then cooked them quickly front and back on a hot pan.
While tortillas baked, she asked them to prepare the other ingredients. Professionals as they were, their skill was incomparable to hers. The taste was flawless.
Loading everything onto a tray, Ellie excitedly hurried off to Demian.
“Sorry to keep you waiting!”
“I was so bored I nearly fell asleep.”
Demian had been working in his study. Bursting through the door energetically, Ellie was startled to find him talking with Morris.
Morris spotted what Ellie carried and smirked.
“You really do the same thing everywhere, Ellie.”
“Consistency is the most important trait in a person, isn’t it?”
Ellie quickly regained her composure and replied shamelessly.
“I’m not really hungry right now.”
“I know you barely ate earlier. I ate by myself while you hardly touched anything.”
“It’s not like I ate nothing.”
“You had a slice of apple, poked at your salad, then bit off a piece of meat. That’s all.”
“……”
Demian looked a bit defeated.
“And when food is in front of you, the stomach naturally makes room.”
Though, come to think of it, maybe only gluttons were like that. Ellie wisely kept that loophole to herself while she began layering ingredients on the tortillas.
“What’s this?”
Morris leaned closer. Ellie edged back slightly and explained.
“It’s called salsa—made from tomatoes, jalapeños, onions, a little garlic, lemon juice, and some herbs. It’s refreshing and delicious. Add some chopped meat and leafy greens, then fold it up like this, and you’ve got a taco!”
“So this is what you call a taco?”
“Yes.”
Ellie had debated whether to make tacos, burritos, or quesadillas, but she chose tacos for fun. She figured they wouldn’t believe her unless they saw all the fillings, and besides, wrapping it themselves would be entertaining.
(I already taught the kitchen how to make burritos and quesadillas, so he’ll get to taste those later.)
The reaction had been explosive. They were like second and third versions of Marlina, with a natural talent for feeding her vanity.
(Maybe everyone who lives in a kitchen is a good person. Including me.)
Even the cooks at the McClure estate hadn’t been all that bad. Ellie found it strange that everyone she’d met since leaving that house had been so good. She wasn’t usually that lucky.
“Hmmm.”
“Just close your eyes and try it. You won’t regret it.”
“It doesn’t seem that different from the bread on the table. Just thinner and with color.”
“The point is eating it all together.”
As always, he couldn’t just eat it quietly.
Ellie briefly considered smearing salsa on her cheek, like when she’d gotten night cream on her face, to make a point. She thought very seriously about it.
But there wasn’t enough salsa to waste—it had too many chunks anyway—so she gave up.
“Honestly, Demian, you and everyone else with these symptoms all have terrible eating habits. People need to eat on time and with variety to stay healthy. In a culture already skewed toward meat, if you add picky eating and undereating on top of it, how can your body not wear down? That’s why you need to build a habit of eating more diversely, like this.”
Morris let out a small chuckle. You really are cheeky with everyone, Ellie. She heard it but couldn’t get mad.
Even she knew she was being bold to the point of recklessness.
But once you’d drawn your sword, you had to cut something.
So Ellie decided to see it through.
“If you leave it to me! Once we make tacos—eating various fillings in these thin tortillas—or burritos and quesadillas popular! Then all the fatigue and headaches caused by picky eating and skipping meals will disappear completely!”
It would be even better if bread and desserts became trendy too.
(And then we’ll mass-produce pigs…)
Let’s all go down together.
“If you didn’t already have strange talents, I’d hire you on the spot. You seem like the kind of talent our company needs. You could probably sell sand in a desert.”
“Thanks for the compliment. But I don’t want to go to the desert.”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate the heat.”
The more fat, the more sweat. Morris burst out laughing at Ellie’s brazen answer, and Ellie carefully joined in. The awkwardness eased a little, and she felt relieved.
Demian accepted the taco Ellie handed him.
“You’ve never disappointed me yet.”
He said that with a slight squinting smile at her.
Demian watched Ellie with interest as her cheeks flushed near her cheekbones.
Even as she stared like she was enchanted, she never acted greedy. She played meek, yet said everything she wanted.
And she always delivered the results he wanted, with just the right surprise—he loved that.
(Even if Morris helped, she built a brand in such a short time.)
She had developed menus, handled training—everything. All the ideas had come from that small head of hers.
And today she had brought something new again.
Demian knew her excuse of “I read it in a book” was a lie. None of what she knew existed in any book.
(What else does she know?)
Demian took a big bite of the taco.
