A tofu artisan’s morning started early.
My workshop was located deep in the forest, a short distance away from the Village of the Great Tree. There was a spot where fresh spring water bubbled up, and I had built my dedicated tofu-making hut right beside it.
That spring water was the heart of the process. Water was the most indispensable ingredient in making tofu, after all.
I began by checking the soybeans I had washed and left to soak the previous day. Once I confirmed they had absorbed enough moisture, I added more water and set to crushing and mixing them. I did so thoroughly, over and over. The quality of the crushing and mixing at this stage dictated the final flavor, so I never allowed myself to cut corners.
When I was satisfied with the consistency, I added even more water and heated the mixture until it boiled. I watched it like a hawk to ensure nothing scorched, and once it reached a boil, I lowered the heat and let it simmer a while longer.
Once that was finished, I poured the mixture into a bag and squeezed it before it could cool, separating it into soy milk and dregs. It was the soy milk that became the tofu. As the temperature began to dip, I dissolved nigari in water, added it to the milk, and stirred. Nigari was essentially the mineral-rich liquid left over after salt was extracted from seawater. I didn't fully understand the science behind it, but I knew the soy milk would never solidify without it.
I discarded the liquid from the top and poured the settled portion into a mold. There were many ways to do this—some used baskets or simple cloths—but I preferred a wooden box lined with fabric. After letting it sit to allow the excess moisture to drain, I placed a heavy weight on top to firm it up.
With that, the tofu was complete.
I produced between fifty and a hundred blocks every morning. This tofu was transported to the Village of the Great Tree, as well as Villages One through Five, to be consumed. My early start was necessary to ensure the delivery arrived in time for breakfast. Tofu was at its absolute best when it was fresh; the flavor only declined with every passing hour.
Because of that, several members of the Centaur Race arrived at my hut just as the tofu was being finished. Their job was to race the product to each village. Their transport skills—maintaining incredible speeds without so much as cracking a single block—were a marvel. Being needed by so many people was a quiet joy.
Once the handoff was complete, I set about washing the soybeans for the next day. It might have looked like a simple routine, but it was grueling in its own way. Even so, I never skimped on the work. If I did, the taste would suffer. Perhaps no one would even notice if the flavor dropped just a fraction, but I would know. I couldn't forgive myself for that.
So, I would continue to make tofu here, day after day. I was Rasa, a High Elf. And I was a tofu artisan.
A jam artisan’s morning started late.
I could sleep in until it was nearly noon. It was a wonderful arrangement.
Lest anyone think I was slacking off, there was a practical reason for my schedule: the kitchen was never empty. My work was restricted to the window of time between lunch and dinner. My day began by pleading with the High Ogre Maids to let me borrow their workspace. Once I secured the kitchen, the rest was straightforward.
I took the large pot reserved for jam and added the ingredients. This time, I was making strawberry. It was autumn, well past the usual season for strawberries, but I chose them anyway. Mostly because I wanted to eat them myself.
...I was joking, of course.
In truth, the Village Head had grown a batch of sour strawberries specifically for jam during the summer months. Making the jam itself wasn't difficult. I simply combined the fruit with an nearly equal amount of sugar and boiled it down. It required constant stirring to prevent burning, but as long as I didn't get distracted, it was almost impossible to fail.
However, there was one thing I had to be extremely careful about.
It wasn't the heat. The jam reached high temperatures, but anyone with eyes could see the danger of a boiling pot. I didn't need to be told to be careful with that. No, the real danger was the scent.
The process of making jam released an incredibly potent, sweet aroma. And like clockwork, that scent lured in the Fairy Queen and her followers. They didn't barge in and demand a taste immediately; instead, they waited patiently for the jam to be finished. That was what made them so troublesome. When the work was done and they looked at me with those eyes, it was very hard to refuse them.
Still, I maintained a will of steel and said no. I couldn't afford to yield. Why? Because once, I had made the mistake of giving them a "taste," and they had kept coming back for more until the entire batch was gone. Even now, the Fairy Queen and her entourage were standing by, but I ignored them and focused on the pot.
Once the jam had boiled down to the right consistency, I moved the pot away from the heat. I packed the preserves into glass jars and clay pots, but before I could do that, the containers had to be sterilized in boiling water. This prevented the jam from spoiling. I filled a tall pot with water, brought it to a boil, and submerged the jars.
I had to be careful not to put the jars directly into the boiling water, or they would shatter from the thermal shock. I always made sure to pour a little warm water into them first to bring up their temperature. I occasionally forgot, but I had to be diligent; if I broke a jar, the High Ogre Maids would glare at me.
After the containers were sterilized, I let them cool naturally. Trying to rush the process with cooling magic was another recipe for broken glass. Once the jars were ready, I poured in the slightly cooled jam, and the job was done.
At this point, the fairies began to get rowdy, so I gave them permission to lick whatever was left in the pot. Apparently, warm, freshly made jam was a special treat for them. The Fairy Queen and her group swarmed the pot with delighted cheers. It delayed my cleaning of the pot, but I considered it a necessary sacrifice to protect the actual jars of jam.
I handed the entire finished batch over to the High Ogre Maids. I didn't set aside a portion for myself or anyone else. Giving it all to them was the only way to avoid arguments and accusations of favoritism.
If I did say so myself, my jam was quite popular. The strawberry, apple, and blueberry varieties were especially well-loved by the children. The more experimental flavors... well, they tended to divide opinions. I wished everyone loved every kind I made, but even I had flavors I wasn't fond of. I suppose people should just enjoy what they liked and pass the rest to someone who appreciated it.
As for my name... don't worry about it. I was just an Angel jam artisan who spent my time wondering why jam made from citrus was called marmalade.
As I ate my dinner, I began to plan what kind I should make tomorrow.
"Doesn't that girl who makes the jam have awfully short working hours?" Angel Race A asked.
"She really does," Angel Race B agreed.
One of the Civil Official Girls chimed in. "Maybe so, but that jam of hers is absolutely top-tier. It makes for an incredible gift."