Chapter 7

“Eek. Cooking?”

At Kurt’s words, Mari looked at him with a horrified expression.

It was understandable, considering it was a dish made by a Lizardman.

Mari wasn’t particularly prejudiced against other races, but even so, the idea of a Lizardman cooking was a different story.

After all, it was common knowledge in this world that Lizardmen had almost no sense of taste—it was practically a racial trait.

Just as Elves lived longer than ordinary humans, or Trolls had exceptional regenerative abilities, Lizardmen’s near-lack of taste buds was a well-known fact.

So, the idea of a Lizardman cooking was akin to a blind person trying to paint.

“That’s right. I have some good potatoes, so I can’t help but cook.”

“Good potatoes…?”

The potatoes he brought?

Those potatoes were dry, crumbly, and would turn into a mushy mess when boiled. They were hardly convenient to eat.

Hearing this, Mari realized that the rumors about Lizardmen’s lack of taste were true.

“I’m fine, though…”

“No, no need to refuse. I’ll make it quick.”

“B-but…”

But Mari owed Kurt her life.

Burdened by this psychological debt, she couldn’t refuse his offer. She consoled herself that it was better than being burned alive and reluctantly sat down.

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…

With that, I spat out some oil and approached the drooping Boiling Oil Mimic Plant.

“Huh? Can you eat that flower?”

“Of course not. It’s a plant that’s been altered by mana to the point of being fire-resistant. Eating it raw would give you food poisoning. You’d need to neutralize it first.”

“Does neutralizing it make it taste good?”

“It’s not completely inedible, but it’s not worth the effort to neutralize it. It’s more useful for other purposes than eating.”

“Then why are you touching it?”

“It’s the ‘oil’ I need. The plant itself is contaminated with mana and inedible, but the oil it stores is perfectly fine for cooking.”

“Eek.”

At my words, Mari made a face as if to say, “You’re not seriously going to eat that oil, are you?”

After all, the oil seeping from the drooping flower bud was mixed with the corpses of bugs that had been cooked by the high heat.

No one would want to drink bug-infused broth, even if the oil itself was edible.

And I felt the same way.

“The oil I’m going to use isn’t from the flower bud, but from here.”

With that, I pulled up the Mimic Plant’s roots.

Among the usual root structures, there were thick, bulbous parts resembling sweet potato roots. These were the organs where the Mimic Plant stored its oil.

“The Mimic Plant usually produces and stores oil in these roots, then supplies it to the fake flower buds when needed. The oil for this dish will come from here.”

“Ah, I thought so from the beginning.”

It was impressive how she acted as if she’d known all along, feigning curiosity.

I carried the Mimic Plant’s roots to the campfire Mari had used the previous day.

Then, I took out the neutralization pot I had been carrying on my back and set it up at an appropriate height over the fire.

“Ah, so it wasn’t a shield.”

“I had it custom-made by a human merchant for extra money.”

“So, what are you going to cook with this?”

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Mari asked with a curious expression.

Though the idea of a Lizardman cooking was unsettling, she couldn’t help but wonder how Lizardmen usually cooked.

In that sense, it was a fitting curiosity for someone aspiring to be an Adventurer.

“First, I’ll use the Mimic Plant’s oil.”

With that, Kurt sliced the Mimic Plant’s oil sac in half and poured its contents into the pot.

The sac contained more oil than it appeared, and soon the pot was filled with cooking oil.

“Hmm. This should be enough.”

“…”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

‘Is he seriously going to dump all that oil into the pot? I’ve heard Lizardmen have terrible taste, but is he planning to make stew with oil?’

Mari forced a smile, her eyes trembling as she watched Kurt’s pot.

Living in the forest and being a vegetarian, Elves were unfamiliar with cooking cultures that used fire. Mari assumed Kurt would use the oil directly in the meal.

Unaware of Mari’s thoughts, Kurt simply peeled the potatoes she had handed him with skilled hands, while the oil in the pot heated up.

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“Hmm. Good. The potatoes are prepped enough.”

*Sizzle*

After finishing the potato prep, I lit the campfire to raise the oil temperature.

The key to frying is the oil temperature.

Depending on the ingredients, the optimal temperature varies, so finding and maintaining the right temperature is crucial.

Even more so in this situation, where I had to maintain the oil temperature using only a campfire, without the convenience of a gas stove.

It was a more challenging task than it seemed, especially without a thermometer.

But if there were disadvantages compared to my past life, there were also advantages.

My heightened senses allowed me to gauge the oil temperature accurately without sticking my hand in the pot.

I adjusted the firewood to control the oil temperature.

For frying meat, the ideal temperature is between 170°C and 180°C, where the Maillard reaction is most active.

But for fried potatoes, a slightly lower temperature around 160°C is ideal.

Though it was my first time frying potatoes in this body, I had experience frying meat, so I adjusted the temperature based on that.

Then, I dropped the finely chopped potatoes into the oil.

*Sizzle*

As the potatoes hit the oil, a series of small popping sounds followed.

At the same time, a savory aroma began to spread from the campfire.

But it was too early to relax.

After counting exactly three minutes in my head, I quickly fished them out.

A strainer would have been convenient, but as a wanderer who had just left the village, obtaining one was out of the question.

Instead, I used chopsticks to swiftly pick out the well-fried potatoes.

In the end, speed is essential in frying.

Every action was carried out swiftly, without delay.

After shaking off the excess oil, I lightly salted them, completing the fried potatoes.

I would have liked to have ketchup, but creating it from scratch in this environment was impossible.

“Here. It’s done.”

Today’s breakfast menu:

Salted Fried Potatoes.

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Mari had been anxiously watching Kurt cook, but the moment the potatoes hit the oil, she forgot her worries and stared blankly at the neutralization pot.

Kurt’s cooking skills were more impressive than she had imagined, but what surprised her even more was the process itself.

As an Elf accustomed to salads and limited use of fire in cooking, the sound of something frying was a small shock in itself.

The frying sound, amplified by the Elves’ sensitive hearing, was several times clearer than it would be for other races.

And the savory aroma of the potatoes that followed was an even greater shock to Mari, a novice adventurer.

‘Is this really the same potato that I used to eat as a dry, crumbly boiled mess?’

When Kurt first mentioned cooking, she had imagined being served bloody meat and bitter, dirt-covered greens in a bowl.

But the potato dish that appeared on the plate was on a completely different level from what she was used to.

Its bright golden color shone like her own hair.

“Here. Try it.”

*Gulp*

A new dish made from potatoes, something she had never seen before.

And the fact that it was cooked by a Lizardman should have made her hesitate, but Mari, filled with curiosity, picked up a fried potato without a second thought.

Was it the curiosity befitting an aspiring adventurer?

Or was it simply the irresistible aroma of the fried potatoes?

Mari didn’t distinguish between the two and popped the fried potato into her mouth.

*Munch*

What she experienced was a new horizon for potatoes.

What she had eaten before wasn’t cooked potatoes—it was tortured potatoes.

This was the ideal, no, the ultimate form a potato could achieve.

“T-this is…”

“…?”

“This isn’t a potato! It’s a god!”

With that, Mari began spearing the fried potatoes with a fork, but soon abandoned it and started shoveling them into her mouth with her hands.