After departing Techne Prime, the Sperm Whale settled into its flight path toward the free trade port known as Freeport Nova.
There was still plenty of time before our arrival.
Emma, our new addition, sat in the cabin with a look of lingering discomfort on her face. It was only natural; her environment had changed overnight. In times like these, clever words weren't the answer. What she needed was a direct strike to the stomach.
"Alright. Since this doubles as a welcome party for Emma, I’m going to use the good stuff."
I stood in the kitchen and pulled the eggs and milk—parting gifts from the Professor—out of the refrigerator.
They were precious, and the freshness preservation freezer would keep them for a long time, but I had no intention of falling victim to "Elixir Syndrome" with my groceries. The true value of an ingredient was in the eating.
"Today's menu is carbonara."
I pulled a bag of dried pasta from the pantry. These were thick, long noodles—spaghetti, essentially.
Pasta in this world was designed for convenience; it was an instant variety that reconstituted after just a few minutes in hot water. I’d seen short pasta back home that only required boiling water, so I supposed this was just a logical evolution of that.
While the noodles lacked the scent of wheat and tasted like bland carbohydrate moldings, the texture was strangely chewy and actually quite decent. It was a world apart from that soggy, bloated "yakisoba" I’d eaten before.
I wondered how food culture had reached such a state. It was likely the result of people who couldn't tolerate the extra step of a separate sauce creating such disasters in the name of efficiency.
"The noodles will do. The problem is..."
I rummaged through the back of the fridge, but all I found was a leftover block of synthetic meat.
There was no bacon. In fact, I had never once seen smoked meat in any of the markets in this galaxy. The closest thing was the occasional withered strip of jerky.
Smoking was originally a technique used to improve preservation via the antibacterial components in smoke. However, synthetic meat carried no bacterial risk, and modern preservation technology was far superior. If someone wanted the scent of bacon, they could simply buy a flavored Tasty Cube.
The "pleasure of food"—that salty, smoky aroma—had been swallowed by the tides of efficiency and lost.
"If I don't have it, I'll just have to improvise."
I placed the uniform, pink block of synthetic meat on the cutting board. If I simply grilled it, it would be nothing more than a rubbery mess with an artificial odor.
"First, I need to render out the fat."
I diced the meat into the smallest cubes I could manage. Then, I tossed them into a frying pan without any oil and cranked the heat to high.
Sizzle, sizzle... crackle!
The artificial fat seeped out, and the meat began to fry in its own grease. By sautéing it until it was crispy, I could drive off the unique odor, leaving only a snack-like savoriness behind. I finished it by shaking an aggressive amount of rock salt and black pepper over the pan.
"There. Pseudo-crispy bacon."
It lacked the smoky aroma, but I had secured a punchy combination of salt and fat. I tossed the reconstituted, piping-hot pasta into the pan.
Sssssss!
With a violent hiss, the fat from the synthetic meat was absorbed into the noodles.
"Heat off. Now for the real work."
I moved the frying pan onto the metal plating of the kitchen counter to let the temperature drop slightly. I really needed to buy some dish towels; I’d have to add that to the shopping list.
I took the eggs I’d cracked into a bowl and added a small splash of the precious milk. Using eggs alone would cause them to solidify too quickly from the heat. Thinning them with the moisture and fat of the milk would create a creamy sauce that clung to the pasta more easily.
I poured the well-beaten egg mixture in all at once.
"Cheese and more black pepper. No holding back."
This was residual heat cooking. If the temperature was too high, it would become crumbly scrambled eggs; too low, and it would remain a watery mess. I tossed the noodles at the perfect temperature, emulsifying the eggs, fat, cheese, and milk.
A thick, golden sauce formed, coating the noodles in a heavy embrace. I plated the dish and added one final dusting of black pepper.
"Thanks for waiting. My instant 'Carbonara-style Ground Meat Kamatama Pasta.'"
A rich aroma of cheese and eggs rose with the steam. The mountain of golden, glistening noodles was a direct assault on the appetite.
"Mmm...! The smell of the eggs is incredible...!"
Emma gripped her fork, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard. We all took our seats and twirled the hot noodles.
"Let’s eat!"
I slurped the pasta down with zero regard for manners. In that instant, a rich torrent of flavor flooded my mouth.
"...!"
It was rich—overwhelmingly so. The mellow, powerful creaminess of real eggs enveloped the salt and fat of the crispy synthetic meat. The massive amount of black pepper was doing heavy lifting, too; the spicy kick compensated for the lack of smoke and kept me reaching for the next bite.
I hadn't used a drop of heavy cream, yet the power of eggs and milk alone had created such a decadent flavor.
"It's so good...!" Emma cried out, her eyes wide and her voice trembling. "What is this? The sauce stays stuck to the noodles and won't let go! Every bite tastes like eggs, and the crunchy meat is such a perfect accent...!"
"Mmm! This is the best! This synthetic meat tastes like a snack, I love it!" Mina added, her mouth stained yellow as she stuffed her face. Even Lucia’s fork was moving with uncharacteristic speed.
I let out a low groan of satisfaction with every mouthful. The power of "genuine" ingredients was in a different league entirely. A single egg had transformed synthetic junk into actual "cuisine."
I felt a deep sense of satisfaction, a surge of vitality welling up from the bottom of my stomach.
"...But it's still a shame, really," I muttered to myself while chewing on the last scrap of meat.
"A shame? Even though it's this delicious?" Emma asked, tilting her head curiously.
"Yeah. The eggs are perfect. This meat I improvised isn't bad, either. But... there's no 'aroma.'"
The smoky scent. If I could add that, this carbonara would evolve into something else entirely. But as I’d realized, smoked meat didn't exist in this world’s markets. It was a lost technology, discarded in the name of efficiency.
"Well, I’ve found our next challenge."
I stared at the empty plate and began to plan.
"Adding an item to the shopping list: wood that could serve as smoking chips. No, probably won't find that. At the very least, I need to find 'something' that can provide that scent. We’ll have to keep an eye out."
"Y-Yes! I'll be your luggage carrier or whatever else you need, so please make this again!"
She was certainly quick to change her tune once fed. Still, if it brought out a smile like that, it was well worth the effort.
With our stomachs full and our spirits high, the Sperm Whale began its deceleration. Below us, the chaotic lights of the free trade port, Freeport Nova, began to spread across the darkness of space.