Life in the Blackwell manor had settled into a monotonous routine, one that was as bland and uninspired as the food served at every meal. As I grew older, the memories of my past life became clearer, and with them came a growing sense of frustration. The meals here were dreary—stews that tasted like nothing, bread that was always a little too stale, and meat that was cooked until it was tough and flavorless. Every bite reminded me just how far I was from the vibrant, flavorful dishes I once knew.
One particularly dull afternoon, as I sat at the long dining table, poking at a piece of boiled meat that had all the taste and texture of leather, I finally had enough. The servants were used to the noble family's indifferent attitude toward food, but I was sick of it. I missed the rich, comforting flavors of my past life—dishes that were full of life and taste, something that could make me feel a little more human in this cold, stone manor.
That evening, after another tasteless dinner, I found myself wandering into the kitchen. The servants, busy cleaning up, barely noticed me as I began to rummage through the pantry. I wasn't sure what I'd find, but I was determined to make something better than the unappetizing meals I'd been forced to endure.
To my surprise, the pantry was stocked with a variety of ingredients—flour, eggs, milk, and an assortment of spices. It wasn't exactly what I was used to, but it was enough to work with. I decided to start simple, with something comforting: a custard. In my past life, custards were a favorite, a dessert that was both easy to make and deeply satisfying.
I worked quietly, mixing the ingredients with the care and precision that had been second nature to me as Takumi Harada. The kitchen staff cast curious glances my way, but none of them interfered. Perhaps they thought it best not to question the odd whims of a young noble, or maybe they were just as bored with the usual fare as I was.
As the custard mixture thickened over the heat, the aroma of vanilla and sugar filled the kitchen. The smell was intoxicating, a small reminder of the life I had left behind. It wasn't just about the food—it was about bringing a little bit of warmth and comfort into this dreary existence.
Once the custard had cooled, I carefully spooned it into small bowls and set them aside. The servants, still watching me out of the corners of their eyes, seemed intrigued but hesitant. Finally, one of the younger maids, a girl named Lila, approached.
"Master Leonhardt," she said softly, her curiosity piqued, "what are you making?"
"It's a dessert," I replied, trying to sound casual despite the excitement bubbling inside me. "A sweet dish from… somewhere far away."
Lila leaned in, sniffing the air. "It smells wonderful. But… are you sure it's safe?"
I smiled at her question, understanding her caution. "It's perfectly safe. Would you like to try some?"
Her eyes widened at the offer. It was clear that the servants weren't often invited to taste the food meant for the family, especially something so unusual. But her curiosity outweighed her caution, and she nodded shyly.
I handed her a spoon, and she took a small bite. Her eyes widened even further as the creamy texture and sweet flavor spread across her tongue. "This is… amazing!" she exclaimed, almost forgetting to keep her voice down. "I've never tasted anything like it."
The other servants began to gather around, drawn by Lila's reaction and the enticing smell. Soon, they were all taking turns tasting the custard, their expressions shifting from surprise to delight. I watched them, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It was a simple victory, but it felt like a significant one.
Later that evening, when the custard was served as dessert at the family dinner, I anxiously awaited my father's reaction. Baron Blackwell was a man of simple tastes, and I wasn't sure how he would respond to something so different from the usual fare.
He took a spoonful of the custard, his expression unreadable as he tasted it. For a moment, I feared he would dismiss it entirely, but then he nodded, his gaze settling on me.
"This is… different," he said, his voice as measured as always. "Where did this recipe come from?"
"I just thought I'd try something new," I replied, trying to keep my tone casual. "I was getting tired of the same old dishes."
He nodded again, more thoughtfully this time. "You have a knack for this, Leonhardt. Just… don't make a habit of being too unusual."
His words were a subtle warning, a reminder that while change might be tolerated, it wasn't always welcomed in a place like this. But I didn't care about standing out or making a name for myself. I just wanted to eat something that didn't make me feel like I was slowly turning into stone, like the walls of this manor.
Over the next few weeks, I continued to experiment in the kitchen, driven by a simple desire to eat something—anything—better than what the manor usually offered. I made bread with herbs and garlic, soups that were rich and flavorful, and even managed to whip up a decent meat stew that didn't taste like shoe leather.
To the average person in this world, my dishes might have seemed strange, even unnecessary. But to those who knew better—like Lila and some of the more experienced servants—they were a breath of fresh air, a welcome change from the dull routine.
It wasn't long before word of my culinary experiments began to spread beyond the manor walls. Visitors, both noble and common, would remark on the unusual but delightful dishes served at the Blackwell table. Some praised them as innovations, while others simply enjoyed the break from the norm.
But for me, it was never about the praise. I didn't care if people thought I was a genius or just a strange child with odd tastes. I was just trying to make life a little more bearable, one meal at a time.
And as I stood in the kitchen one evening, stirring a pot of soup that filled the room with the rich aroma of herbs and spices, I realized that these small changes—these little comforts—were my way of carving out a place for myself in this world. I didn't need to be a genius or a hero. I just needed to eat well and live better.
Because in this cold, stone manor, a good meal was sometimes the only warmth I could find.