As ntioned before, Ren hadn't prepared an overwhelming number of dishes for Kasugano Sora. The first reason was simple: her appetite was delicate, and she couldn't eat too much.
The second reason was that the main course he had in store for her was a true showstopper. To capture a palate already awakened by such an aromatic appetizer, the dish that followed couldn't be anything less than a culinary titan.
At that mont, Lucifer was still deep in conversation with Ren about future plans, while Kasugano Sora ate with quiet obedience. Just as Lucifer was about to make a particularly bold point, a new, intoxicating aroma drifted through the air, cutting her off mid-thought.
Kasugano Sora had just finished the last spoonful of cream soup. It had perfectly opened up her taste buds and settled a pleasant warmth in her stomach. The feeling was deeply comforting, but it was only the beginning.
With delicate hands, Sora lifted the lid of the dish placed before her. A dense, rich wave of cheese-scented steam billowed out, assailing her nostrils. This was, without a doubt, a heavyweight champion.
The dish was baked cheese rice. One didn't even need to see the cheese; the words "baked rice" alone were a declaration of war on subtlety. The three main staples of Western cuisine—baked rice, pasta, and pizza—were all renegade-level existences, the culinary equivalent of a suona horn blaring in a string quartet.
Other dishes arrived as a neat plate of food or a refined bowl of soup. But these three were different. They were culinary bandits, taking whatever they pleased. A pizza would brazenly pile on fruits, vegetables, and various ats, then bury it all under a shaless amount of cheese before being blasted with heat until it was impossibly fragrant.
Pasta was even more extre. A pizza was at least straightforward in its chaotic assembly. Not pasta. That scoundrel, putting all else aside, was outrageous in its sheer versatility. at sauce, vegetable sauce, bean-based sauces, red wine reductions, and even the absurdly decadent cream-based sauces. It didn't play with a hodgepodge of toppings; it played with sheer numbers, an endless legion of variations.
But the most gloriously brutal of the three was baked rice. Pasta had a degree of subtlety, and pizza could at least be presented with a certain artistic flair. This thing? It had no such pretensions. You threw in whatever you wanted, added cheese, then more cheese, and baked it.
It was illogical, a complete defiance of culinary convention. But it was precisely this lawlessness that created such a rich and stunningly delicious experience.
As stated before, the true purpose of rice lies in its capacity to carry other flavors, and baked rice was the ultimate proof of this principle. It was just a serving of rice, yet it carried so, so much.
The richness of beef, the smoky depth of cured sausage, the salty tang of sharp cheese, the llow creaminess of mozzarella, and the indispensable sweetness of soft peas. With all that, a few chunks of refreshing pineapple certainly wouldn't be out of place. Not enough? How about the subtle, creeping spice of curry? Still not enough? What about the all-purpose cure-all, the exceptionally fragrant, pre-sautéed onions?
Still not enough? There was more. How about potato cubes, which offered a unique, soft texture without competing for the spotlight? Still not enough? Of course! Slightly sweet carrots. By this point, the dish was already a treasure trove of flavors. But if you insisted on more, diced ham or shredded turkey would fit right in.
With this mountain of ingredients gathered together, what did it sll like? Could you even identify all the different aromas? To even try would be an act of folly. All one could sll was fragrance—a deep, rich fragrance. An enticing, complex fragrance. A fragrance as bountiful as the dish itself.
Eating covered rice or fried rice still required a spoon, but for this dish, not using one would be an insult to every ingredient held within. You had to take a spoon and plunge it straight down, piercing the golden-brown crust of cheese and digging directly into the core. The mont the seal was broken, the aroma would burst forth in its entirety, a cloud of fragrant steam escaping from the fissure.
Sora scooped up a spoonful of the richly endowed, enticingly colored rice, a string of lted cheese trailing from the top. With that one bite, her mind was filled with nothing but fragrance, and then more fragrance. In that mont, one phrase proved its absolute truth: "Cheese is power!"
Lucifer, who already possessed a notorious sweet tooth, had always been fond of cheese. Now, she was staring at the baked rice in front of Sora, completely dumbfounded. 'Cheese can be eaten like this?!'
Ren noticed her expression and said with a smile, "Doesn't it look appetizing?"
"Hmph. Why do you always make things that look so… tempting?"
"As for that question," Ren mused, "it's probably because I think about how much I'll enjoy eating it while I'm making it. That feeling makes it more appealing. You probably thought the sa thing when you made those chocolate crepes, didn't you, Lucifer?"
Hearing this, Lucifer froze for a second, then her mouth twitched. Was she really going to admit that her mind had been filled with nothing but thoughts of devouring chocolate?
"That's right. That's what I was thinking…" she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
"Right? I knew it. I knew you weren't just making chocolate crepes simply because you wanted to eat chocolate, Lucifer."
"Yes, yes…"
Lucifer subtly glanced at Ren, only to see a strange, knowing smile playing on his lips. She imdiately realized he was teasing her again, and her cheeks puffed out instantly.
"Hmph!"
"What's wrong?"
"Hmph!"
anwhile, Kasugano Sora's small mouth hadn't stopped moving. She was taking small, deliberate bites of the baked rice, completely unable to stop herself. With the creamy soup as a prir, the intense flavors of the baked rice were even more pronounced. But this was how it was ant to be eaten; you didn't need to analyze what you were tasting, you just had to surrender to the overwhelming tide of its rich aroma and swallow.
"Mmm… so delicious," she whispered between bites. "As expected, I can only eat onions when I'm with Brother Ren… So…"
Her words trailed off as her gaze fell upon the final bowl. It was a simple, beautiful white porcelain bowl, containing only two colors: white and purple.
Within the pristine bowl, sothing with the texture of ice cream sat quietly, drizzled with a vibrant purple jam. She took a spoonful. The sensation that greeted her mouth was delicate, soft, and faintly sweet.
Its na was as simple as its appearance: blueberry jam on top, yam paste on the bottom. Blueberry Yam. That was all. Yet, this simple creation possessed the power to completely pacify the storm stirred up by the previous two dishes, calming their irresistible aromas and leaving no room for agitation.
It was just that simple: the plain, starchy sweetness of yam and the fresh, sweet-and-sour tang of blueberry jam. The combination wasn't overly sweet, but it was elegant enough to perfectly assu the crucial role of the finale.
The rich, savory, and smooth creaminess of the soup; the fiery, passionate, and lingering richness of the baked rice; and the sweet, powdery, and refreshingly balanced freshness of the dessert. After the complete set, one felt an utter and deep sense of satisfaction.
Watching Kasugano Sora eat in small, careful bites, as if reluctant to let the experience end, many people might have said, "Ah, it's so late, and that's so high in calories! You'll get fat!"
However, whether in Chinese or Western cuisine, the universally recognized delicacies are almost always like this. Does one not get tired of calculating calories while eating? Life is ant to be enjoyed. When you should be savoring a mont, don't do things that make you uncomfortable. All you need is a little self-control to know when to stop.
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