Source
https://kakuyomu.jp/works/2912051598917319858
A weekend morning.
I woke up because I was drawn in by the gentle aroma of dashi.
(Come to think of it, wasn’t it Elis’s turn to cook today?)
Now that classes had started at university, weekday mornings were inevitably hectic.
So I tended to get by with simple breakfasts like toast or yogurt.
That’s why I remember Elis being unusually eager yesterday, saying she wanted to cook a proper meal at least on the weekend.
When I headed to the living room, breakfast was already all set.
“Rintaro! Good morning♪”
“…Pretty authentic for the morning.”
“Hehe, dig in!”
Elis stood there proudly, chest puffed out.
Lined up on the table were white rice, rolled omelet, miso soup, and simmered eggplant.
It was a menu that could be called perfect for breakfast… from a Japanese perspective.
I was a little surprised since I never expected Ellis to make Japanese food, but I was also starting to feel that there was no point in being surprised by something like this coming from her.
“Well then, Ellis, I’m going to dig in.”
“Okay!”
First, I took a sip of the miso soup.
The ingredients were tofu and wakame seaweed—a familiar, comforting taste…
(…………Huh?)
“Is something wrong?”
When I tilted my head slightly, Ellis immediately asked with a worried look on her face.
“No… I just thought it tasted good…”
“Hehehe—”
Ellis narrowed her eyes happily.
I felt a bit uneasy about the way she laughed, but I figured I was probably overthinking it.
The miso soup tasted normal.
That doesn’t mean it wasn’t good; it just means that everything—the richness of the flavor, the quality of the broth, the slightly chunky pieces of tofu—was exactly as it always was.
Since she served me a dish that matched my standard for what “delicious” tastes like, there was nothing to compare it to.
(……Is it close to Mom’s cooking?)
The thought crossed my mind, but surely that was just my imagination.
Even though the seasoning for miso soup varies from household to household, the ingredients and seasonings were things we already had at home. If that’s the case, it wouldn’t be strange if the taste was the same.
Besides, it felt a bit rude to ask Elis about it.
To say “This tastes like Mom’s cooking” about a meal Elis went out of her way to make would be the worst possible comment.
“Try the rolled omelet too.”
“Oh, sure.”
I brought the rolled omelet to my mouth as she urged me.
Mmm, it’s delicious.
It’s a little salty—the kind of flavor that goes great with rice.
This one feels a bit firmer than usual, but the seasoning is just right.
“This is good too.”
“I’m glad. I’ve been studying Japanese cooking because I wanted Rintaro to try it.”
“Oh, really? Thanks for going out of your way.”
Elis didn’t touch her own portion; she just watched me eat with a smile.
I felt a little awkward, but I figured it was only natural she’d want to see my reaction to the food she made, so I told her “It’s delicious” every time I took a bite and polished off every last grain of rice of her home-cooked meal.
★ ☆ ★
I quickly finished up a short report for class, and it was lunchtime.
Elis called out, “Lunch is ready,” so I headed to the living room.
“Sorry it’s just a simple meal.”
Even as she said that, what Elis had prepared was ginger pork.
On the plate were pork and onions coated in a sweet and savory sauce.
Next to them were shredded cabbage and tomatoes.
“This is more than enough. You’ve just raised the bar for me tomorrow.”
“I’m just making this because I want Rintaro to eat it, so don’t worry about it.”
That said, though.
We promised to share the housework, so I should probably put in an effort that matches the quality of Ellis’s cooking.
“Let’s eat.”
I dig into the ginger pork before it gets cold.
This flavor really goes down a treat with rice—
“Hm?”
I tilt my head again. And this time, I let out a sound.
“What’s wrong, Rintaro?”
Elis is staring intently at me, still wearing that same smile.
As if she’s waiting for me to say something.
“Elis, this ginger pork… how did you make it?”
“I just made it the usual way.”
“There’s no way you could make it the usual way and end up with the exact same secret ingredient.”
No wonder breakfast tasted so similar, even though it was supposedly made by someone else.
The ginger pork Elis made was exactly the same as Mom’s recipe.
If even the secret ingredient—Worcestershire sauce—matched, there was no way I could talk my way out of this.
“Did I get caught?”
“Of course you did.”
Elis stuck out her tongue and giggled.
“Actually, Rintaro’s mom taught me.”
“My mom? When did that happen…?”
“A little while ago. When I sent Rintaro’s photos, I asked her about his favorite flavors and stuff.”
“Wait a minute! I didn’t hear anything about you sending photos!”
“But Rintaro, you don’t send photos on your own, do you?”
“Guh…”
I guess that’s just how guys are, but my lack of communication has come back to haunt me. If I’d kept in touch a little more, I might have noticed the information was leaking…!
“Mom, you didn’t tell Elis anything extra, did you…?”
“Don’t worry, it was all just useful information.”
“That’s exactly what’s unnecessary!”
This is the worst.
Mom holds a mountain of secrets about me that I don’t want anyone else to know.
The reason I grew up without ever going through a proper rebellious phase is because I knew that if I ever rebelled, she’d make me pay back a hundredfold.
“…What else did you ask her?”
“Just ordinary stuff. Like how Rintaro can’t wait when he hears the sound of frying, so he comes out of his room a little before dinner’s ready… and other things—”
“Stop it! Damn it, Mom!!”
Please don’t go blabbing about your son so casually.
There’s no telling how that information might be used.
“Still, Elis, what were you planning to do with my preferences anyway?”
“I wanted to be able to cook dishes with flavors Rintaro likes.”
“…Well, that’s nice of you, I guess.”
“(Also, I wanted to win him over through his stomach.)”
“Don’t mutter scary things like that.”
Because when Elis says it, it’s no joke.
(Wait, hold on a second…?)
Something occurred to me as we were talking.
Actually, maybe I’m the one who should have been figuring out what Ellis likes.
“If that’s the case, I’d like to know what food Ellis’s family eats, too. Like the dishes you used to eat in Germany, or the ones your parents used to make for you.”
“…Why?”
“Why? …Well, it’d be better if I could cook them, wouldn’t it?”
Elis left her hometown to live alone in a foreign country.
She seems cheerful and happy on the surface, but even if she doesn’t show it, she’s probably dealing with small stresses due to cultural and language differences.
At times like that, having something she’s used to eating should help her feel a little more at ease.
I remember when I first went to Germany, I was dying to eat white rice the whole time until my rice cooker arrived by ship.
I know all too well that not being able to eat your usual meals is stressful in and of itself.
“Besides, I’d like to try some of the dishes you’re good at making, too.”
“~~~~!!”
When I said that, Ellis fell silent.
She looked down, clenching her hands tightly in front of her chest.
“…Rintaro, you’re really sneaky.”
Elis puffed out her cheeks in a pout and glared at me.
Did I say something to upset her?
“Well then, remember this. All my favorite dishes, every single flavor!”
“It might be hard to get them all right, but I’ll do my best.”
“Eh, hehe… Well, there are so many things I want you to try—like the dishes Mom used to make, soup on cold days, Christmas meals, and lots more.”
“I’m looking forward to that.”
When I was a kid, I used to eat at Ellis’s house sometimes, but back then I hardly ever paid attention to the names of the dishes.
Now, I’m sure I’ll appreciate them differently than I did back then.
“Well, since it’s my turn to cook tomorrow… I think I’ll go ahead and make one of your favorite dishes right away. What do you want to eat? Tell me.”
“Yeah! Um… oh!”
Elis seemed to have thought of something and grinned.
Just thinking about it made her make that face—it must be a real favorite of hers.
“Well, there is something I want to eat, but I don’t have enough ingredients.”
“Oh, I see. Then write down what you need. I’ll buy them tomorrow.”
“No, let’s go together.”
Her answer was immediate.
“No, I can handle grocery shopping on my own.”
“Let’s go together? I want to make sure I find the exact ingredients we used at home.”
“I see. In that case, is it okay if you come with me, Elis ?”
“Yeah!”
Elis’s face lit up instantly.
It wasn’t until a little while later that I realized we’d be going out together again.
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