“Mm… what’s that about? Is there any reason to refuse washing with warm water? The air here is cool, so it must be cold.”
Jesha’s behavior did seem a little odd, but for now, I decided to hear the details over the meal in a bit and set my questions aside.
She might simply be the type who disliked imposing on others, or maybe, just as she said, she really was a cold-shower maniac.
After all, even I was firmly in the warm-water-shower faction—the type who absolutely had to shower with hot water.
And more than anything, I had to hurry, because I needed to serve a first meal to someone who had been starving.
I’d already sorted out the entire menu in my head, but since it would take a little time to simmer, I found myself getting impatient.
Minestrone—a traditional Italian soup dish, thicker than a clear soup but thinner than a stew.
The name sounds fancy, but honestly, it’s basically like a mishmash where you throw whatever vegetables you have into a tomato broth and boil it.
Of course, that didn’t mean I had the slightest intention of making it carelessly.
That would be rude to the guest, and to myself as well.
First, I filled a small pot with a suitable amount of water and set it on the burner in the kitchen.
Even in this world, where everything felt medieval, the kitchen surprisingly had something like a modern stove. Though really, it only looked like a stove—it was actually more like a stone shelf where you could place a small wood fire.
There was a vent installed overhead so the smoke could escape through the ceiling, but I’d left it unused because I didn’t particularly want to light a fire indoors… Still, Jesha was washing outside right now, so if I kept going in and out to use fire, she’d probably be extremely conscious of it.
On top of that, I might get misunderstood as a pervert for no reason, so I had no choice but to use the stove.
I quickly cut the potatoes, onions, carrots, and cabbage into two-centimeter squares, sliced the leek into suitable pieces, and once the water boiled, I put in whole tomatoes with cross-shaped cuts scored into their bottoms to blanch the skins.
As I turned the tomatoes this way and that, blanching them evenly all over, the edges of the scored peels began to lift slightly. That was the signal they could be taken out.
I took out the blanched tomatoes, placed them in the cold water I’d prepared beforehand, and peeled them gently by hand; the tough skins slipped right off in one smooth motion.
In tomato dishes—especially ones where the tomatoes are blended or crushed—the presence or absence of this concassé step plays an important role in the final quality.
Next, I quartered the peeled tomatoes and added them one by one into a mortar where I’d already crushed onion, basil, and oregano, mashing them well.
It was one of those moments that made me miss the blessings of modern civilization that ended with a click, like blenders and canned tomatoes, but what could I do? I had to make do with what I had.
Still, once the makeshift tomato purée was finished, I was about halfway there.
I set up another pot for the minestrone, and once it heated up, I added the tomato purée and lightly sautéed it.
Since there was no oil, it quickly began to stick and scorch here and there, but that didn’t matter.
As long as I moved the pot around near the fire and controlled it just enough to keep it from burning, all of it would turn into umami.
These weren’t the watery so-called “salty tomatoes” commonly seen back home, but a Western-style variety with less moisture and a much richer flavor, so it would have a much deeper taste.
Over the tomato purée, boiling like lava as it burst thick, crimson bubbles, I poured a stream of chicken stock.
With a satisfying psshhht, it gave a blessed baptism that dissolved all the masses of umami stuck to the walls and bottom of the pot… Just hearing the sound was enough to whet the appetite.
After pouring in plenty of stock, the first thing to go in was the potatoes.
Next would be the carrots, then onions, then cabbage, adjusting the order so the vegetables cooked evenly.
But that wasn’t the end of it. If there was one defining trait of minestrone, it was that it was a soup with pasta in it.
The dish itself wasn’t exactly haute cuisine, so normally people would just boil and add some dried pasta… but there was no way I had anything like that, so I planned to make fresh noodles and put them in.
Flour, egg yolk, and a little salt, kneaded together into a firm, clay-like fresh pasta dough.
Maybe because the flour had been milled with the husks, it absorbed a lot of water, and even though I added extra egg white, it still had a strong yellowish tint.
Normally, I’d let it rest a little and then use a pasta machine to make noodles, but I had no time to age it, and surprisingly, there wasn’t even anything resembling a rolling pin.
So I had no choice but to tear it off by hand and drop it in like hand-pulled dough flakes.
To be honest, it wasn’t a method I was particularly satisfied with, but thinking about it, it might unexpectedly give it a homestyle feel, so it might be fine.
I added a little more water to the pot I’d used to blanch the tomatoes, then dropped in bite-sized pieces of dough one by one.
Unlike dried pasta, which had to be boiled at least five minutes or more depending on the type, fresh pasta was done as soon as it floated to the surface.
I added it as the final solid ingredient to the minestrone pot, which had become fairly hearty even with the cabbage, stirred it well, then seasoned it with salt and pepper. And with that, it was complete.
The seasoning was just right, and the thickness was perfect too.
As for the taste… it wasn’t perfectly satisfying, but I’d done the best I could, so I finished it by placing whole leaves of fresh basil on top.
“Host. I don’t know what you’ve boiled, but the aroma is good enough to make a person faint.”
“Wah! You startled me… When did you come in?”
“Hahaha, sorry if I frightened you. You were so focused… and the sight was so beautiful that I ended up watching quietly without realizing it.”
Jesha, who had returned after washing off the grime, surprised me once again to the point where I could believe she was a completely different person.
Her hair, which had looked like a mop caked in dried mud, now revealed the dark brown bob it had been hiding, and her exposed skin bore many scratches and cuts over faint brown sunburns, but the apricot-colored canvas beneath still looked soft.
There wasn’t a hint of makeup on her features, and her gauntness showed, but even more than that, her strong green eyes, blade-like nose, and thin, firm lips made her charm quite apparent.
As if she had no particular intention of hiding them, the loose ties revealed a deep cleavage and breasts larger than I had expected.
Below, her skirt reached her ankles, but it was slit at the sides from around the calves, offering a glimpse of healthy, shapely legs.
Barely holding back my head, which kept trying to turn toward her chest, I lowered my gaze and carried the food over to the table where Jesha sat.
“Hoo… How long has it been since I had a proper meal? Come to think of it, I still haven’t asked the host’s name. If it isn’t rude, could you tell me?”
“M-me? Um… Sa, Sage.”
“Sage… A name as lovely as your kind heart. Then, Sage, I’ll gratefully eat.”
“Yes… Please… enjoy.”
What was this…? For some reason, it suddenly felt like she was coming on really strong.
I liked it, sure, but I was a little flustered that she’d even asked for my name, which she hadn’t bothered with until now.
I thought it would feel strange if I gave the name I had before reincarnating, so I just blurted out whatever popped into my head, and I was relieved it wasn’t an awkward name.
I chose it because I liked the scent of sage, but as a man’s name, Sage did feel a little too feminine.
“More importantly, Sage, what in the world is this soup? Everything I’ve eaten until now may have been nothing but pathetic garbage, but this… this is absurdly delicious.”
“Is it? Whew… thank you. I didn’t have many ingredients, so I just boiled it with what I had. I’m glad. Eat slowly, and have as much as you want. There’s still more.”
As the person who made the food, it was wonderful when the person being served smiled and gave a thumbs-up while saying it was delicious. But something probably just as satisfying was a guest who silently buried their head in the bowl, devoured it in one go, then held out the empty dish.
Then what about someone who did both? If I could, I’d create extra service out of nothing just to give it to them.
‘The crunchy ingredients, the deep and rich broth… I don’t know what the soft, springy bites here and there are, but this is good too.’
For the first time, Jesha felt resentful of her own limited powers of expression as she lost herself in the delicious soup and shoveled it into her mouth. It wasn’t just because hunger was the best seasoning; it was truly delicious.
Even though there was no meat in it, it gave a considerable sense of satisfaction, and at the same time, it was clean without a single unpleasant flavor.
It was embarrassing to even bring up battlefield pig gruel, with its roughness going down the throat and its unknown foul odors, as something to compare it to.
The thought occurred to her once more: this man’s wife was truly an unfortunate person. To have had a husband like this and been forced to die…
“Sage. There’s one thing I’m curious about.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“If it isn’t rude… may I ask how you parted from your wife?”
At my question, Sage’s face colored with obvious bewilderment.
I knew it was a question that would put him in a difficult spot, but even so, I had no choice but to ask.
At the very least, knowing under what circumstances she had died, leaving behind a young husband, was the bare minimum courtesy to the one who had gone ahead first.
He agonized as he toyed with the loose side strands left over after tying his soft, flowing long hair into a ponytail, biting his cherry-like lips… and when our eyes happened to meet, Sage abruptly turned his head away.
I see… Perhaps it means he still isn’t ready to accept a new woman.
But no matter how he became a widower, a man couldn’t live alone in a forest like this. I shall become his new support.
‘Fuck, I’m screwed. What excuse do I make? Wife, my ass—I’m a loser who’s never even held a woman’s hand….’
Unlike Jesha’s mind, which was filled with romantic thoughts, Sage’s head was in total chaos.
As if it weren’t enough that he’d already lost points by being mistaken for a divorced man, his gaze kept going to Jesha’s chest, and if he made some awkward excuse for no reason, she’d see him as even stranger, so he couldn’t easily open his mouth.
“She… she left.”
“…Left? For where?”
“That… I don’t know. Um… a little while ago, I woke up and she was gone without a word.”
I blurted out an answer in a hurry because I thought she’d find it strange if I agonized too long, but the moment the words left my mouth, I regretted it inwardly.
Running away from home! What was she, a middle schooler in puberty? Running away in the middle of the night—did that even make sense?
Even I thought it was a ridiculous answer, but Jesha slammed the table with a bang, making me flinch my shoulders.
“Sage… until I heard that, I thought your former wife must have been a truly wise woman. Because she took someone like you as her husband. But now I see she was not only foolish, but irresponsible as well!”
“Ah… yes.”
…That worked. Why did that work?
Whether Jesha believed my pathetic excuse or not, she seemed genuinely furious, snorting roughly as if unable to contain her anger.
After getting angry on my behalf to the point that I, the person involved, was bewildered, she suddenly grabbed my hand and thrust her face close to mine.
“Sage. I have a request. Look into my eyes and answer me.”
“Wh-what is it?”
The green eyes beneath her short lashes, shining like emeralds, burned fiercely toward me, and just looking at them made sweat bead on my skin.
Because her grip strength was astonishingly powerful for a woman, I couldn’t move a single finger, and once I barely managed to answer, Jesha slowly opened her mouth.
“Sage, if you are willing… I want to stay here. If you want me to, I’ll leave whenever you say, but at least let me repay the debt of you saving my life today.”
“Yes? But…”
“I know! You must be anxious. Because of the wife who got scared of danger right under her nose and ran away, and because of a mysterious woman who appeared out of nowhere! But I promise you. I will not harm you. No, rather… I’ll ma, make…”
“Make…?”
“I’ll make it clear through my actions! Anything at all, if there is work difficult to do with a man’s body, entrust it to me! While I stay here… whatever it is you want, I will gladly do it.”
Whatever… whatever… Every sentence before it was erased from my mind, and only that final phrase remained.
Really anything? Everything, as long as I asked? Honestly, it would work, right…? My face was honestly pretty good-looking, and I even saved her life, didn’t I?
…Screw it, I don’t know anymore. What’s the worst that can happen, getting slapped? Let’s just say it.
“Then… there’s one thing I really want to ask of you, Jesha.”
“I’m listening.”
“Um… with you, Jesha… I want to do… th-that…”
A perfect silence settled over the fairly spacious inn, and I couldn’t even finish my sentence.
Even I could tell my face had turned bright red, and cold sweat was pouring down my back.
I swallowed dryly and had just reached the fleeting moment where I thought this really had been kind of stupid and tried to gloss it over.
Then, as if to wonder where in the world such strength had come from, Jesha scooped me up in a princess carry in the blink of an eye and lightly kissed me.
When I came to my senses after being carried off in a daze by the completely unexpected turn of events, I was already on the bed on the second floor.
…Huh? Uh…? What is this? Are we doing it just like this?