In life, there are often moments when one thing takes absolute precedence over everything else.
In this instance, that thing was undoubtedly remaking carbonara with my homemade bacon.
I had to complete at least one definitive plate—even if it didn’t reach the heights of the "supreme"—before the precious eggs and milk I’d received from Professor Stein were squandered on other dishes.
The block of bacon I’d finished smoking in the hangar bay sat on the cutting board. Its surface glowed a fresh amber, and a mellow, heavy smoke aroma from the oak chips billowed up with raw power. It was proof that heat, smoke, and the vitality of the wood had breathed life into a material as inorganic as synthetic meat.
"Akito, is it pasta this time?"
Mina peeked into the galley, her nose twitching and her eyes fixed on the counter like a small predator stalking its prey.
"Yeah, carbonara. But with this bacon, we're looking at a different beast entirely... Consider this a revenge match."
I sliced the bacon into luxurious, thick slabs. Every time the blade bit through, the scent of concentrated fat burst forth. I lined the pieces in a cold frying pan and began heating them slowly over a low flame.
As the meat warmed, it began to sizzle with a pleasant, rhythmic popping, and clear, golden fat gradually wept from the slabs. At the same time, an aroma of smoke that bordered on aggressive filled the galley, masking the sterile, inorganic air of the ship.
"This is it. This is the scent the previous carbonara was missing."
I cracked the eggs into a bowl and added a literal mountain of shaved synthetic cheese. The scent of the homemade bacon was incredibly potent; even with this much cheese, there was no fear of its presence being overshadowed. If anything, I needed this much boldness to stand up to that heavy, smoky profile.
I added a splash of milk to thin the mixture out.
Once the noodles were boiled, I tossed them into the pan with the rendered bacon fat. With a satisfying hiss, the pasta was instantly coated in a golden sheen. I pulled the pan from the heat, letting the temperature settle for a moment before pouring in the egg mixture all at once.
From here, it was a battle of speed.
Working fast, I used the residual heat to gently set the eggs without scrambling them, emulsifying the liquid into a perfect, velvety sauce. I ground in so much black pepper it bordered on excessive, then gave the pan a light, rhythmic toss.
The thick, golden sauce clung heavily to the pasta and the chunky bacon.
In truth, there wasn't much difference in technique compared to the last attempt. But the ingredients themselves were everything. Even with a dish this simple, I might not have the chance to make it again until I returned to the professor’s side.
"Alright, the carbonara is served. Eat up."
The aroma rising from the plates on the table was on an entirely different level from the last batch. It wasn't the strictly authentic Italian style, but it was the kind of carbonara we Japanese knew best—the carbonara for Japanese people.
Mina and Emulgand stared at their plates as if struck dumb, intoxicated by the scent alone. Beside them, even Lucia seemed to have a faint glimmer of expectation in her eyes.
"Time to eat!"
The two girls twirled the pasta and shoveled it into their mouths simultaneously. Lucia followed suit, her fork moving with refined, elegant motions.
"—!!"
Emulgand’s eyes went wide, and she froze in place. Mina sank into her chair, looking like she was buckling under the sheer weight of her own happiness.
"...I-I can’t believe it. Is this really the same dish?" Emulgand asked, her voice trembling. "U-um... it was delicious last time too, but this is something else entirely! This smell of smoke that hits the back of your throat from the meat... it makes the eggs and cheese taste so much better! It’s... it’s truly the best...!"
"Mmm-ph! When you bite into it, the fat just gushes out, and then that smoky smell hits you! Akito, this is way better than the last one!"
Flapping her ears vigorously, Mina hungrily dove back in for her second and third bites. After chewing carefully and swallowing, Lucia quietly set down her fork.
"...Reporting. The flavor components have become incomparably more complex, triggering high-dimensional interactions. It is... extremely delicious, Master."
I slurped up my own portion.
It was, quite frankly, perfect.
The rich depth of the eggs, the saltiness of the cheese, and the overwhelming presence of homemade bacon—something that felt entirely different from the commercial products I remembered. The oak smoke aroma provided a complex depth to the otherwise monotonous flavor of synthetic meat, transforming it into a powerful, satisfying meal.
The plates were empty in an instant, leaving only a comfortable sense of satisfaction and the lingering, reluctant aftertaste of smoke in the air.
It was getting harder to reconcile the way I casually served up these ingredients with the realization of just how rare they actually were. Honestly, who designed this universe?