With the shopping at Freeport Nova complete, the Sperm Whale was being prepped for departure. Amidst the general hum of the ship, the kitchen alone simmered with a different kind of heat.
"Alright, it's time for the First Firing Ceremony."
Looming before me was the brand-new Commercial Steam Convection Oven. Resting on the cutting board was a three-kilogram slab of Premium Synthetic Loin, a cut hand-selected by Lucia.
With its magnificent marbling, the meat exuded an aura that set it miles apart from the usual paste-molded blocks I’d dealt with before.
"Seasoning is complete. The meat has reached room temperature, and the internal thermal distribution is uniform," Lucia reported.
"Perfect, Lucia."
I rubbed salt, pepper, and an assortment of herbs into the surface before placing the slab on the baking tray. I hadn't been stingy with the spices. Considering the cost of the herbs alone, not to mention the meat itself, the slab was already worth more than a dozen high-end steaks.
I tapped at the oven's control panel.
Temperature: 120 degrees. Humidity: 30%.
I thrust the core temperature sensor into the center of the meat.
"Off you go."
I slid the heavy door shut and pressed the start button.
The fan began to whir—a quiet, mechanical hum—as hot air and a fine mist of steam began to circulate within the chamber. This was slow cooking at low heat, a feat impossible in a simple frying pan. By using the power of steam to prevent the meat from drying out, the oven could maintain a temperature range at the very threshold before the proteins began to harden.
Long live the wonders of modern civilization.
Several dozen minutes later, the oven chimed with a jaunty electronic tone, signaling that the core temperature had reached the target value.
When I opened the door, a wave of heat flooded the room, carrying a mellow, savory aroma.
"Whoa...! That smells incredible!"
Mina, looking like she couldn't wait another second, poked her head into the kitchen.
But I wasn't done yet.
"Final touch. Heat up the frying pan for me."
I moved the meat to a piping-hot pan.
Sizzle!!
I seared the surface over high heat, adding the rich fragrance of the Maillard Reaction. Then, I wrapped the slab in aluminum foil and let it rest. This was the crucial step to allow the juices to redistribute through the fibers.
In the meantime, I started the sauce.
I poured red wine into the same pan to deglaze the meat drippings and boiled off the alcohol. To that, I added Pseudo-Soy Sauce, Synthetic Butter, and a hint of honey, simmering it down to a glaze.
"Lucia, a taste test, please."
"Understood."
Lucia licked a small amount of the sauce from a plate.
"...Salinity is within the appropriate range. The balance of acidity and sweetness is optimal; however, to better complement the richness of the meat's fat, I recommend additional black pepper."
"Roger that."
Her feedback was pinpoint accurate. To think a kitchen assistant with a functioning sense of taste could be this reliable. I gave the pepper mill a few turns and finished the sauce.
I handled the garnishes at the same time. The staple would be mashed potatoes. Unfortunately, these were the dried variety that you reconstituted with hot water, though the packaging boasted a "significant percentage" of genuine potato.
After mixing them with boiling water, I kneaded in Synthetic Butter and the last of our milk. The creamy finish successfully masked the powdery texture common in instant foods.
Dinner time arrived.
A mountain of thinly sliced roast beef sat at the center of the table. The meat's tenderness was apparent the moment the knife touched it.
The cross-section was a perfect, blushing rosé. It was cooked evenly to the core, glistening with juices that caught the overhead lights like tiny jewels. Beside the meat lay a generous serving of smooth, white mashed potatoes.
"Let's eat!"
Mina and Emulgand lunged with their forks simultaneously.
"Ngh! It's so soft! It's practically melting!"
"I've never had meat this good...! Every bite is just an explosion of flavor...!"
Their eyes sparkled as they frantically stuffed their mouths. Lucia took a bite as well, quietly closing her eyes to process the sensation.
"...A tenderness as if the fibers are unraveling, paired with a concentrated umami. By optimizing the heating process, the protein denaturation has been maintained at an ideal state. Is this truly the power of the 'oven'?"
"It’s the tools. And the ingredients were top-notch, too."
I offered a modest shrug while keeping an eye on the Professor. As a self-proclaimed gourmet, he used his knife and fork with practiced elegance, coating a slice in sauce before tasting it.
"...Hmph. Not bad."
The Professor dabbed his mouth with a napkin and nodded contentedly.
"The cook is perfect. It’s moist, not dry in the slightest. It doesn't even belong in the same category as those rubbery steaks they serve at the Academy cafeteria."
"Well, thank you. Though I don't think an Academy cafeteria is supposed to be the pinnacle of culinary art."
"True enough. That place only puts on the facade of cuisine for the sake of prestige; in reality, they care for nothing but the efficiency of nutrient intake."
It was a high praise. I finally brought a slice to my own mouth.
...Yeah, it was good.
The moment it hit my tongue, the silky texture unique to low-temperature cooking spread out. When I bit down, the fibers yielded without resistance, releasing a flood of trapped juices. The chemical odor inherent to synthetic meat had been completely neutralized by the herbs, spices, and the charred aroma of the seared crust.
What remained was the pure savory depth of meat and the sweetness of fat. The red wine and soy sauce reduction added a sharp contrast to the richness, practically demanding another bite. When I wrapped a bit of the sauce-soaked potato in a slice of meat, the earthy sweetness and the savory juices fused into a synergistic burst of flavor. Dried or not, potatoes really are meat's best friend.
Without a doubt, this was the best meat dish I’d prepared since arriving in this world.
However...
(...It's still just not the same.)
I let out a soft, internal sigh.
It was delicious. Definitely delicious. But something was missing. Genuine beef—raised on grain and time—possesses a specific sweetness that hits the brain's pleasure center directly, along with a primal, milky aroma. It has a wild texture earned by muscles that actually walked the earth.
This meat lacked that soul. It was too clean, too uniform—a "model student" of a flavor. Perhaps this was simply the limit of an industrial product designed to mimic meat. To a tongue that knew the real thing, it felt... well, hollow.
"...Your tongue doesn't seem satisfied."
The Professor's voice broke my train of thought. I looked up to find him watching me with keen, searching eyes.
"Pardon?"
"Look at the people around you. A resident of this sector would weep with joy to taste synthetic meat prepared this masterfully. And yet, you are chewing with a rather detached look on your face."
The Professor swirled the liquid in his glass, his gaze fixed on me.
"You look as though you are weighing this against the 'real thing' and finding it wanting."
"...You're overthinking it. I just sampled too much while I was cooking."
"Oh? And yet, your techniques, your knowledge, and the sheer sharpness of your palate... they far exceed what one would expect from a mere mercenary or cook."
The Professor smirked.
"I'm beginning to take a real interest in your culinary history—or rather, your background. Just who are you, and where did you come from?"
Sharp. He hadn't survived a career as a high-level researcher by being unobservant.
I simply shrugged and tossed the last of my portion into my mouth.
"Who knows? Just a country bumpkin from the frontier. ...Anyway, Professor, shall I start on dessert?"
"Evading the question, I see. Very well, we have plenty of time."
The Professor laughed heartily and drained his glass.
"That was a magnificent dinner. With a chef like you aboard, I don't think boredom will be an issue on this trip."
He set the glass down and his expression shifted back to business.
"Now that we’ve eaten, let’s finalize our flight plan. Lucia, to the bridge. We’ll have a briefing once everyone has finished their post-meal rest."
Our destination: the Xeno-Mist nebula.
I found myself wondering what those Star Tuna would actually taste like.