WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Alyo
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ Surviving Among the Anomalies ◈
Chapter 31: Side Story - Traditional Recipes
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『Molecular Gastronomy has opened a new horizon in the culinary world.』
In an old restaurant, an elderly man began cleaning as he listened to the television. He was both the owner and chef, but sending the employees home before personally tidying up the restaurant was a habit he had kept his entire life.
『The combination of cooking and science, creating new flavors by bringing together ingredients that seem wholly incompatible, may well be called a realm bestowed upon humanity by the God of Cooking out of pity.』
The elderly man tidied the lobby. He wiped the displays that could no longer be used but were maintained every day so that not a speck of dust settled on them.
[MICHELIN 2002]
[Gault & Millau TABLE DE CHEF 2002]
After returning the displays bearing three stars and four hats, proof of the last time he had received recognition, the man reached for items even older, proof of his most brilliant days.
『High-level flavors, aromas, and textures that cannot be created through existing methods shocked those who had once dismissed Molecular Gastronomy. It is all thanks to the new cooking tools emerging as science advances. Of course, Chef Henri Boucella’s appearance was decisive.』
A faded golden chef’s trophy, and a single plate in place of a plaque.
[Bocuse d'Or 1998 Chef / Georges Guichon]
By the time he finished wiping the plate, the broadcast had ended as well.
『Molecular Gastronomy is something every French chef must learn as basic knowledge, even if it is not their specialty. Those who insist on tradition alone will never reach the world stage.』
The elderly man returned the plate to its display case.
“Bullshit.”
As he prepared to leave, the old man thought.
‘What matters in cooking is traditional methods and the natural flavor of the ingredients.’
The combination of cooking methods refined over hundreds of years and excellent ingredients from France’s rich natural landscape was France’s pride, an impregnable fortress that science could never challenge.
‘The world is still going mad.’
That damned globalization. That damned diversity.
Once he was ready to leave, the elderly man turned off the restaurant lights.
“Excuse me, is this Chef Georges Guichon’s restaurant?”
A man opened the door and entered the darkened restaurant. Dressed in a suit with neatly combed-back blond hair, he looked like a typical office worker.
“It is, but we’re closed.”
The elderly man, Georges Guichon, dismissed the visitor.
“I’ve come rather late, I see. Still, would you spare me just a little of your time? I’ll make sure you never regret it.”
Normally, he would have cut the man off and thrown him out without a second thought. Yet for some reason, Georges found himself moved.
“What is it?”
“I’ve come despite the late hour to give you the thing you need most.”
“A thing? What thing?”
“A seasoning. Ah, I haven’t introduced myself.”
The man handed him a business card.
“I am Beelzebub, General Manager of the R&D Department at Lucifer Company. You may call me Baal for short, or by the name humans commonly use.”
Beyond the window, the lights of Paris danced beautifully.
“A demon.”
＊＊＊
“I came a little earlier today.”
Late in the evening, Baal returned to the restaurant. Since he arrived just after all the employees had left, it was earlier than his visit yesterday.
“Are you really a demon?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re insane.”
“Why not try the seasoning I gave you and see whether I’m a demon or not?”
At those words, Georges remembered the previous night.
[A demon, my ass! Get out!]
[My, then I’ll leave for today. But I’ll leave you a gift.]
Before departing at Georges’s command, the man named Baal had left behind a small glass bottle.
[It is a seasoning that brings out the distinct flavor of every food to its utmost limit. It is not a chemical seasoning but a natural one, and since it draws out the taste of the ingredients rather than relying on science, I am confident it harmonizes with traditional cooking methods.]
At first, he had intended to throw it away. Yet he could not bring himself to do so, just in case.
“You still have it, don’t you?”
“It gives me a bad feeling. There could be drugs in it. I don’t want to throw it away and get arrested for drug trafficking, so take it back.”
“Are you certain?”
Baal looked at the seasoning on the table.
“This is your only chance to surpass Henri Boucella.”
“What!?”
“No, that was a slip. Henri Boucella is nothing more than a passing trend.”
Leaving the furious Georges behind, Baal walked out of the restaurant.
“That seasoning is your only chance to be remembered as a great figure in culinary history.”
Once he was alone, Georges immediately threw the seasoning into the trash. Just before leaving after cleaning the restaurant, he glared at the trash can.
“……”
After hesitating for a long time, he took the seasoning back out. He sprinkled a little onto his finger and tasted it.
“Ooh la la.”
His eyes widened more than ever.
＊＊＊
“Congratulations on the success of your restaurant.”
Several weeks later, Baal appeared at Georges’s restaurant again. He held a newspaper, and its front-page articles read as follows.
[Chef Georges Guichon’s restaurant, 「Classique」, finds a new method of combination within traditional cooking.]
[His fantastic seasoning brings out the flavor of ingredients to its utmost limit.]
[What kind of method is this? A taste praised by every chef in Paris.]
Georges did not stop Baal from entering. Rather, he had been hoping Baal would come soon.
“You said you were a demon. Are you planning to take my soul?”
“You believe I’m a demon now.”
“I have no choice but to believe it! This seasoning! Everyone praises anything I sprinkle it on! It gives any dish the finest taste, and no matter how much I use, it never runs out! What besides a demon could create something like this?”
“Now that you finally believe me, I hardly know what to do with myself.”
“In any case, are you planning to take my soul?”
“I won’t take it unless you fall into corruption.”
“How can I trust that?”
“Because, ahem, I’d like to eat first.”
The restaurant was closed, but the other party was a demon. Georges reluctantly tried to prepare a dish from the remaining ingredients, but Baal’s request was simple.
“Please put several seasonings on a plate. That will be enough. Ah, except for the seasoning I gave you.”
“Will that really be enough?”
“I’m a demon. I’d like fries and cola if you have them, but I assume you don’t sell those here.”
Georges brought out the seasonings. When he set down a plate containing pepper, salt, butter, and sugar, Baal dipped his fingers into them and licked them.
“Demons do not lie. And we harvest only corrupted souls. Until recently, we wrote that into contracts to increase our harvest rate, but hmm, souls do not truly become corrupted through that method. At best, they can only be used as slaves.”
“Corrupted souls are treated differently?”
“We treat them well as members of Hell. Do you think we do this because we want to torment humans? It is all to increase the number of those who will join us.”
Georges did not like the sight of Baal sucking on his fingers, but he did not say anything because Baal was a demon.
“I thought demons would make strange contracts.”
“As I said, contracts are not a very good method. The very nature of a contract involves coercion, so the soul does not truly become corrupted. It is the same with forcibly corrupting someone by using demonic power to manipulate human emotions or behavior. To make an analogy…”
A fly buzzed around the restaurant.
“You could call it Molecular Gastronomy. Just as forcing ingredients through scientific processing can never match traditional cooking methods, artificially created flavor and texture are nothing but an illusion in the end.”
Though he was a demon, he seemed to know something about cooking. Georges nodded.
“Then even if I use the seasoning, you won’t take my soul if I don’t fall into corruption.”
“Of course.”
“That’s unfortunate for you. I won’t fall into corruption.”
“I sincerely hope that remains true.”
After finishing his meal, Baal left the restaurant.
“I simply wanted to support you in preserving tradition.”
＊＊＊
After that day, Baal never visited Georges again.
[Restaurant 「Classique」 earns three Michelin stars.]
[Restaurant 「Classique」 earns four Gault & Millau hats.]
His restaurant regained its reputation.
[Georges Guichon, the third chef after Paul Bocuse and Joël Robuchon to receive the Légion d'honneur?]
[Master of Molecular Gastronomy Chef Henri Boucella highly praises his food.]
Everyone praised him. His future, and that of his restaurant, was clear, and it would remain so.
“Classique’s food has become tiresome lately.”
“It tastes the same every day. Hmm, I wish there were something different, something more stimulating…”
Yet the critics who had gradually grown accustomed to his flavors wanted something different. They wanted something more varied and spectacular, something like Molecular Gastronomy that would leave a mark on the history of cooking. Georges also felt that he needed such a thing.
‘In the end, my cooking is only traditional cooking.’
No matter how delicious it was, even if the demon’s seasoning brought its flavor to the utmost limit, it was not enough to carve a new mark into culinary history.
History advanced through pioneers, and only those who contributed to progress could leave behind footsteps that would be recorded forever.
“……”
‘I’m only a chef who will shine briefly with a demon’s help, then vanish.’
Georges had regained his honor, but he thirsted for greater honor.
‘I need more delicious food.’
Yet no dish could draw out more flavor than this with the seasoning. Then he suddenly remembered the first time he had tasted it.
‘It tasted much better then.’
He sprinkled a little of the demon’s seasoning onto a plate and lightly licked it.
‘…This isn’t the taste.’
What had been different then? As he pondered, he finally found the answer.
“Fingers.”
He dipped his finger into the seasoning and tasted it.
“Ooh la la.”
He experienced the heavenly taste he had savored then.
“My God.”
And he understood what it meant.
＊＊＊
Georges closed his restaurant. For several days, he went to the cathedral.
“God, lead me not into temptation…”
Then he spent several days alone at home, thinking.
“It’s madness. It’s madness, but if I can let the world know that taste, if I can…”
After thinking for several more days, he cut off the little finger of his left hand. Having completed an initial experiment with it, he walked outside and contemplated one last time.
“……”
A child walking alone in the park.
A homeless person whose disappearance no one would care about.
A woman walking around late at night without fear.
“I won’t fall into corruption.”
Finally, even himself in the mirror.
“I only want to leave my name in history.”
He washed his body.
“Forever.”
Thoroughly and carefully, as though washing ingredients.
＊＊＊
“What kind of dish will it be?”
“I truly can’t wait.”
The people in Georges’s fully packed restaurant eagerly awaited today’s dish. They had all been personally invited by Georges: famous chefs, media figures, reporters, and food critics.
“I heard there will only be one dish today.”
“I hope he reveals that fantastic seasoning.”
Unlike the guests, whose expectations were overflowing, the staff handling the service were puzzled.
“Why did none of the other chefs come in besides the chef?”
“I heard the chef is cooking alone today.”
“With this many people?”
“There’s no course meal, only a single dish. Maybe he can manage somehow.”
At that moment, Georges stood in the kitchen. After giving his body one last wipe with a clean towel, he filled a bucket with water.
“Sixty-five degrees.”
He added the demon’s seasoning to the hot water. As he poured in a generous amount, even the fragrance rising from the water was sweet enough to make his mouth water.
“Sous-vide.”
He lifted the bucket and drank deeply. It was not because he wanted to drink it, but because it was the meal required for the cooking.
“Ghee.”
He melted butter in a pot. After melting large amounts of butter in several pots, he poured it into the bucket.
‘The preparation is complete.’
Georges took off his clothes. Having devoted seventy years of his life to cooking, he stepped before everyone in a form as pure as when he had entered the world.
“Ooh la la! Georges! What in the world is this?”
“Ooh la la!”
“Georges has gone mad!”
People screamed one after another. The reporters instead cheered, shouting about a scoop as they repeatedly pressed their shutters.
“Everyone.”
He tossed the entire opened bottle of the demon’s seasoning into the bucket of melted butter.
“This is the final dish of my life, and my greatest dish. I hope you will taste a one-of-a-kind heavenly dish unlike anything you have ever tasted or will ever taste anywhere in the world.”
After confirming that the seasoning had melted away entirely like a pillar of salt, he lifted the bucket.
“Arroser.”
Then he doused himself in ghee heated to over two hundred degrees.
“Gyaaaah!”
There were screams. Georges screamed, and so did everyone else. Amid the chaos, Georges writhed in pain as his consciousness soon began to fade.
“An ambulance! Call an ambulance!”
“Georges! Why would you do this!?”
“Ah…”
The commotion soon quieted. Ironically, what held Georges’s fading consciousness together was the heavenly fragrance rising from his body.
‘Yes, I was right after all.’
Not one guest dared to speak. It was humanity’s taboo, an act no human should commit, worse than an animal’s behavior.
‘With this, I will remain in history.’
Yet no one left. One by one, they slowly approached Georges.
‘As the person who made a heavenly dish that no one else could ever replicate.’
Georges wiped the drool from his lips and watched the people approach one after another. Henri Boucella, whom he had envied so much, was among them.
“This is delightful. Yes, this is exactly it.”
Beyond the people who were drawing ever closer, he saw the only person who remained seated.
“Since our defeat at the hands of the Carpenter of Nazareth and his disciples, we have been far too discouraged. Even after getting rid of him, we continued to fear humanity’s potential. That trapped us in the preconception that we had to corrupt them through contracts and tricks.”
The demon was still eating only a little seasoning from his finger.
“It was a phenomenon born from fear of defeat. But there was no need for it. There are countless humans, and most of them are foolish.”
As a chef, Georges finally realized it.
“Even without deceiving them through contracts, even without manipulating their thoughts and feelings, most humans will corrupt themselves in the end. Like a thirsty donkey drinking water until its belly bursts.”
This entire situation was a feast for the demon.
“All we need to do is lead the donkey to the oasis.”
The gathered guests tore into Georges’s body.
“Is this not the devil’s traditional cooking method?”
Amid the extreme pain, Georges’s consciousness faded.
“To think I realized this through a human. I should bring a gift soon. They may even join the company one day.”
Before his consciousness was completely cut off, a fly flew to his ear and whispered.
“Your soul has fallen into corruption. Your charge is 「the crime of forcing other humans to commit cannibalism」.”
Georges screamed, but no one heard him. They were all too busy tearing apart his body and eating it.
Footnotes:
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