“Overindulgence and gourmet food are grave sins.”
A religious group preaching this philosophy visited Yoko, the Acting Village Head of Village Five, demanding that she reform the decadent eating habits of the residents. Because the members of this group were polite and followed the proper administrative procedures, Yoko did not dismiss them out of hand. Instead, she brought their request before the Village Five Council.
After a thorough debate, the council reached a conclusion and posted the following notice throughout the village:
“Avoid overeating. However, do not waste food. Order only what you are certain you can finish.”
That should have been the end of it. However, a portion of the residents who saw the council's notice brought a new appeal to Yoko.
“We should remember the meals we ate before coming to Village Five and learn to appreciate what we have now,” they argued.
Apparently, they felt that the local youth had forgotten the hardships of their past lives and had begun to treat the abundance of Village Five as a given. They proposed that by reverting to their old diets occasionally, the youth would find a renewed sense of gratitude. They requested the establishment of a formal day of observance where everyone would eat the meals they had subsisted on before migrating to the village.
The residents were polite and followed the correct procedures, but Yoko flatly rejected the idea. Her reasoning was simple.
“Do it on your own time! Don't involve everyone else!”
She was certainly right. Consequently, the residents who had made the appeal settled for forming a small "Association for Eating Humble Meals of the Past," meeting about once every ten days.
That night, Yoko reported the day's events to me.
“I brushed them off, but their argument did give me pause,” she admitted.
“But even so, it's not as if you actually want to eat those old meals, right?” I asked.
“Of course not. Why should one go out of one’s way to eat something unpalatable when delicious food is readily available?”
Yoko punctuated her point by draining her glass of post-dinner wine. She then signaled a nearby High Ogre Maid for a refill and another helping of the ham we had served for dinner. The ham was a prototype from a ranch near Village Five, and Yoko seemed quite fond of it. I thought the flavor was decent as well, though in my heart, I felt the ham produced back in Village Two was superior. Perhaps I was just being biased.
While I was lost in thought, Hitoe came over to join Yoko. She had just finished her bath. Usually, she bathed with her mother, but Yoko had returned home late today. It seemed Ria and the other High Elves had helped her out… No, wait. Looking at her, I realized Hitoe must have managed to bathe all by herself.
“Good girl,” I said, patting her head. I looked over at Ria and the others who had accompanied her and conveyed my silent thanks.
The next morning, I found myself reflecting on Yoko’s story. Before I came to this world, I had been hospitalized with a terminal illness. In the beginning, I ate hospital food, but after a few years, I was moved to a liquid diet. For my final year, I was kept alive entirely by an IV drip.
Because of that experience, I never want to lose the joy of being able to eat what I want, when I want. I felt I was grateful for my daily meals, but I wondered if that gratitude had become a mere formality. Had I begun to take these flavors for granted? I didn't think I had grown lax, but I decided it wouldn't hurt to check myself.
For lunch that day, I decided to recreate the very first meal I’d had upon arriving in this world.
Menu Item Number One: Rabbit meat, simply grilled. No salt, no pepper.
I took a bite. It certainly brought back memories—memories of the struggle when I first started my life here.
Actually, it wasn't that I had struggled all that much. Back then, the joy of being able to move my body freely had outweighed everything else. I had simply been happy to be able to eat. It was a nostalgic taste, to be sure.
However, I now knew the flavor of rabbit meat prepared with the High Elves' expert hunting techniques and grilled with a perfect blend of seasonings by the High Ogre Maids, who had surpassed my own cooking skills long ago. Compared to that, this unseasoned meat was a flavor I’d prefer to avoid for a while.
Yes, well, that was that. There was no need to force myself to eat poorly when I already knew how to make things delicious. If one has the means, one should put in the effort to make food taste as good as possible. However, I reminded myself to never forget to be grateful for the lives I was taking, whether it was meat or plants.
Having learned my lesson from Item Number One, there was no Item Number Two.
I hadn't forced my experiment on anyone else, but my actions seemed to have an effect. Throughout the day, I heard the various races discussing the foods they used to eat before they joined the Village of the Great Tree.
The High Elves spoke of "Halori Salad." It was less of a dish and more of a specific type of grass.
“Wait, Halori?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve heard of that. Isn't it poisonous?”
Apparently, there were edible parts if you soaked it in water to draw out the toxins. Even so, it still caused stomach aches.
“It just makes your stomach cramp; it doesn't give you diarrhea or anything,” one of them explained. “And it fills your belly well enough.”
It sounded like a harrowing existence.
The Mountain Elves mentioned whole-roasted Spearhead Poison Lizards. As the name suggested, they were indeed poisonous.
“Did you remove the venom?” I asked.
They shook their heads. Apparently, they didn't. The toxin didn't have any long-term physical effects, but it would knock you unconscious for about an hour. It didn't happen immediately, so they would stagger their meal times to ensure someone was always awake to keep watch. They laughed as they described how the poison made their mouths tingle so much they couldn't speak, but their eyes told a different story—they never wanted to eat one again.
I made a mental note to ensure tonight’s dinner was especially delicious.
The High Ogre Maids had been under Lu's protection, so they hadn't lacked for food, but their culinary repertoire before coming to the village had been limited to basic boiling and grilling.
“At the time, we didn't have any complaints, but compared to what we make now, the flavors were incredibly flat,” one of them said. “I have no desire to ever return to that.”
I understood. I asked about the plan for tonight's meal.
“You don't even have to ask, Village Head. We are putting our hearts and souls into this one.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
The Lizardmen and Harpies had been under the protection of the Angels, but they had still been responsible for their own food. I questioned if "protection" was the right word for it.
“It was more of a subordinate relationship,” Daga, the Lizardman leader, explained. “The Angels didn't provide for us, but if we were ever in true danger, they would come to our aid. Back then, we caught fish in the rivers and lakes. Sometimes the young ones would get stung by a poisonous fish and get swept away by the current. Hahaha!”
I didn't think that was particularly funny.
“What about the Harpies?” I asked.
“We mostly ate tree nuts,” one of them replied. “But the types we were allowed to gather were limited, so it was a struggle to find enough.”
“Limited? Why?”
Tia stepped in to clarify. “In the human kingdoms, demi-humans are generally loathed. Only races under Angel protection are permitted to exist at all. However, to minimize friction with humans, those races had to avoid eating the same foods that humans gathered.”
It sounded like they had all lived through incredibly difficult times.
“I’m just happy that I can eat the same food as everyone else here,” the Harpy added.
“I’m glad to hear that. Please, eat as much as you like.”
The Beastmen were next. I already knew quite a bit about their lives in Howlin Village, but I listened anyway, as Galf, Gatto, and Sena all looked eager to share.
I wasn't sure how much of the earlier conversation they had overheard, but I had to remind them that this wasn't a competition to see who had suffered the most unpalatable diet.
That evening, dinner was far more lavish than I had expected. The children looked on in awe at the spread.
“It's not a special holiday or a celebration,” I told them. “It’s just… the result of us being extra grateful for our daily meals. Don't worry about it. Everyone, take your seats.”
“Thank you for the food,” we said in unison, and began to eat.