I wanted to at least have these ingredients gathered.
Inside the Sperm Whale, still moored at the Oasis dock, I stood alone in the kitchen, driven by a restless impulse.
Our next destination was the gas nebula where the Star Tuna migrated. But before we set off, I had business to attend to.
Several suspicious packages I had scavenged from the Oasis market were lined up on the counter. In the center sat a bag containing the "black fruit" and "black powder" I had wrangled from The Spider. They were angular, black seeds—buckwheat groats, still in their hulls.
It wasn't a huge amount. It wasn't harvest season yet, and besides, this was considered food for the poor. I couldn't just strip the local supply bare. I had to admit, I hadn't been thinking clearly when I made the demand.
"...Alright, let’s do this."
I checked the date on my handheld terminal. On the Imperial Standard Calendar, it was just another meaningless weekday. But my internal clock and the calendar engraved upon my soul told a different story.
Today was New Year's Eve. The threshold between the end of one year and the beginning of the next.
"Master, you have been making preparations that seem almost ritualistic for some time now. What exactly are those?" Lucia asked, tilting her head curiously.
Behind her, Mina was absorbed in the wreckage of the Interdictor she had brought back, while the Professor and Emulgand were busy classifying the spice samples we had received from The Spider.
By the time we finished the Professor's errands and returned here, I needed to have my inspection of these ingredients finished and the curry proportions perfected. It was a professional request I had accepted as a chef, and I was itching to get started.
"These are preparations for 'New Year's Eve.' Back in my hometown, we have a custom of eating a specific noodle dish at the end of the year."
"Noodles? Are they different from pasta?"
"Yeah. It’s a simpler dish. The aroma is its lifeblood."
I opened the bag. Inside was a dense, slightly grayish-black powder. I took a pinch and sniffed it. It had an earthy scent with a hint of toastiness and the sweet aroma of grain. Without a doubt, it was buckwheat flour.
The problem was turning this into an edible form.
"Since I don't have wheat flour, my only choice is 100% buckwheat soba. The difficulty is high, but I’ve got no choice."
Making ju-wari soba was an advanced technique where the noodles were held together solely by the stickiness of the buckwheat itself. If I messed up, the noodles would disintegrate into a pile of mush the moment they hit the water. However, I had the advantage of science and advanced technology to allow for precision cooking.
"Lucia, I need boiling water. Make the temperature exactly ninety-eight degrees Celsius."
"Understood."
I dumped the flour into a bowl and poured the boiling water in all at once. Steam billowed out, and the unique, nutty aroma of soba exploded into the room. This was the yugone method, where the starch is gelatinized with boiling water to create a binder. With my enhanced physical strength, I ignored the heat and kneaded the dough with all my might.
"Beginning monitoring of thermal control and moisture levels," Lucia announced.
Thanks to her support, the dough achieved a miraculous cohesiveness. The surface was smooth, possessing a moist luster. It was going to work.
Now came the real challenge. I sprinkled some buckwheat flour across the table as a dusting agent and set the dough down. My tool of choice was a cleaned metal pipe I’d found at the Oasis junk market—a makeshift rolling pin.
"Roll it out, then cut it. It sounds simple, but 100% buckwheat is brittle. I have to be careful, yet bold."
I rolled the pipe, spreading the dough thin and even. I worked it from a circle into a square, keeping the thickness to just a few millimeters. I carefully controlled my strength to ensure it didn't tear. I never imagined my enhanced physical control would be so useful for such delicate work.
I carefully folded the thinly rolled dough and placed it on the cutting board. Then, I readied my knife and struck a rhythm.
Ton, ton, ton, ton...
The rhythmic sound echoed through the kitchen. The noodles, cut to a uniform width, gradually piled up. They lacked the cold precision of a machine, but they possessed the slight "fluctuation" unique to hand-cut noodles.
"That's amazing, President," Mina said, letting out a voice of admiration.
I gently loosened the finished noodles and lined them up on a tray. They were grayish, beautiful strands with sharp edges. This was true soba.
With the noodles ready, I turned to the tsuyu—the dipping broth. This was the biggest hurdle. I had a seasoning to substitute for soy sauce, and I could simulate mirin with synthetic alcohol and sugar. The real problem was the dashi—the stock that served as the soul of the dish.
I had searched the Oasis market for something fish-like, such as Star Tuna, but found nothing. I glared at the dried goods I had unearthed instead.
One was "Void Squid Tentacles." Apparently, they were the limbs of a mollusk that drifted through the vacuum of space. They looked like shriveled alien mummies, but when toasted, they smelled remarkably like dried squid. I hoped to see them fresh someday.
The other was "Bedrock Mushroom," a fungus that grew on asteroid surfaces. They were as hard as stones, but the shopkeeper swore they were a concentrated mass of umami. I chose to believe him.
"I’ll draw the best possible stock out of these."
No matter how I struggled, it wouldn't be the same as bonito flakes or kombu, but I would make it work. I held the Void Squid Tentacles over the burner, toasting them relentlessly. A crackling sound followed as the fishy smell vanished, replaced by a savory, roasted aroma. It wasn't toasted flying fish, but it was a solid substitute.
In the meantime, I rehydrated the Bedrock Mushrooms in lukewarm water. Ideally, I would have soaked them overnight, but I wasn't sure if that standard culinary rule applied to space fungus. I threw both into a pot and boiled them, attempting to force the essence out.
A few minutes later, a pitch-black liquid was bubbling in the pot. It looked like a witch's brew, but the scent...
"...Hmm. A mysterious aroma. The scent of the sea mixed with the smell of forest earth." The Professor had appeared in the kitchen unnoticed, his nose twitching.
"Would you like a taste?" I ladled some soup into a small dish.
The Professor took a sip. His eyes widened. "...! Oh... this is..."
He paused, savoring the flavor. "It is complex and strange, but not unpleasant. On the contrary, an intense umami grips the back of the tongue and refuses to let go. This is a soup of life—the polar opposite of the monotonous flavors of synthetic food."
"Sounds like a pass."
I added the soy sauce substitute and the synthetic mirin to adjust the flavor. It wasn't bonito or seaweed; it was an unknown space dashi. But to stand up against the strong aroma of the soba, it needed this much character.
Finally, the toppings. I didn't have anything as luxurious as shrimp tempura. Instead, I had Pseudo-Onions and the chopped Void Squid Tentacles left over from the stock.
And then there was one more thing. "Mina, go grab some of the green parts of the Heat-resistant Ivy."
"Huh? We're going to eat that?"
"Yeah. Not the sprouts, but the more mature leaves and stems. They're bitter, but I think they'll work if we cook them right."
I had already done a taste test; since the Bio-core managed the plants, they lacked the toxic sulfur and other compounds usually found in wild space flora. Aside from being heat-resistant, they were remarkably close to the plants I knew from Earth.
Mina plucked some ivy from the planter and brought it over. I dipped them into a buckwheat batter and dropped them into the high-temperature oil.
Juwahhhhhh!
The fragrant smell of oil spread with a satisfying sizzle. It wasn't high-grade sesame oil—just synthetic cooking oil—but even these miscellaneous ingredients became a respectable kakiage once fried.
I shocked the boiled soba in cold water to firm it up, then poured the piping hot soup over it. I placed the freshly fried kakiage on top, and it was complete.
"Alright, here we go. 'New Year's Eve Soba at the Edge of the Galaxy.'"
I distributed the steaming bowls. The noodles were grayish and irregular, the soup black and transparent, topped with a craggy, giant fritter. The appearance was rugged, and it couldn't compare to professional soba back home, but the overwhelming scent of "real food" filled the room.
"...This is soba?" Mina asked, tentatively picking up the chopsticks I had carved from metal rods.
"There's a trick to eating it. You have to slurp it loudly, taking in air at the same time. That carries the aroma through your nose and makes it taste better."
"Making a sound? Isn't that a breach of etiquette?" Emulgand asked, looking hesitant. I didn't wait; I showed them how it was done.
Zuzu, zuzuzuzu!
The "rude" sound filled the kitchen. The unique, nutty aroma of the buckwheat and the deep umami of the dashi filled my mouth. The crumbly texture of the 100% buckwheat turned into a subtle sweetness as I chewed. Then came the kakiage, which had softened as it soaked up the broth. The sweetness of the Pseudo-Onions, the bitterness of the ivy, and the snap of the squid tentacles surged together in a perfect harmony.
"...So good."
The words escaped me. This was it—the sensation that seeped into my very bones. It felt as if a year's worth of struggle was melting away into my stomach. It was so good it almost brought me to tears.
"...Zuzu. ...Slurping is difficult," Mina said, imitating me. Her eyes widened, and she broke into a wide grin. "It's delicious! It tastes like the earth, but it feels so nostalgic!"
"Hmm... I see. Using suction to enjoy the aroma. It is quite rational," the Professor said, skillfully slurping his own portion.
Lucia and Emulgand followed suit, moving their chopsticks and letting out soft sighs as they savored the simple, rustic flavor.
"There's a meaning behind these long, thin noodles," I explained. "It carries a wish: 'May we live long and resilient lives, surviving through the next year as well.'"
"Surviving, is it..." Emulgand gazed pensively at his bowl. In this harsh universe, that wish was more earnest and weightier than any other.
"It is a beautiful custom," Lucia said with a quiet smile. "I will continue to protect both your stomach and your assets in the coming year, Master."
"Go easy on me, would you?"
We lifted our bowls and drank the soup down to the last drop. As the warmth spread through us, Lucia operated the console according to my earlier instructions.
Bong... Bong...
From the ship's speakers, the synthesized sound of a great bell echoed solemnly. The New Year's Eve Bell.
It was soba made from makeshift stock and a plant treated like a weed. Even so, for us, it was the greatest feast in the galaxy.
Now then—let’s survive another year and eat every delicious thing this universe has to offer.