Chapter 49: Cheers to the Glutton!
Curry rice—or "rice curry," as it's also called—originated in Indian cuisine, passed through England, and eventually evolved uniquely in Japan, where it became a national favorite.
It was an incredibly popular dish, and it showed up frequently in the memories of my previous life’s “me.”
Camping? Gotta make curry with a mess kit. Win first place at sports day? Celebrate with curry. Birthday? Curry, obviously.
We even made curry in home economics class, and before cramming for school exams with friends, we'd have—you guessed it—curry.
Curry, curry, curry. And occasionally, curry udon.
Incidentally, I was the type who believed curry udon needed a properly diluted curry base using dashi stock. Just saying.
Now, here's the real issue.
In my previous life, I used to make my curry from scratch—no store-bought curry roux for me, ma’am. (And who even is "ma’am"?)
I once got a spice blend recipe from the friendly owner of a local Indian restaurant. When I tried making it myself, it was fun being able to tweak the flavors to my liking.
Ever since then, I used to combine several spices into my own blend, adding in grated fruits, onions, yogurt, sometimes coffee—whatever worked as a hidden flavor enhancer.
Now, all I have to rely on are my memories, my “Blue Hand” and “Superhuman Dexterity” skills, and the head chef’s sharp palate.
Also… the spiciness level. I mean, I am five years old now.
Hand in hand with Rottenmeier-san, I arrived in the kitchen to find the head chef smiling, surrounded by the ingredients for the curry.
“Excuse me, Head Chef.”
“Thank you for coming, Young Master. Everything is prepared.”
“Great! Thank you so much!”
On the counter, I saw perfectly measured spoons and little dishes filled with freshly ground spices—all lined up and ready.
First, I needed to create the curry powder.
I turned to the corner of my mind where my “former self” lived and squeezed out whatever memory I could.
“Let’s see… cumin, cinnamon, coriander, a bit of clove and bay leaf, just a touch of cardamom… and three spoons of turmeric. Oh, and this, and that… Problem is the chili… Hmm, maybe I’ll just throw in a bit?”
I measured each spice into a dish and passed it to the chef.
He paused his notetaking, peered intently at the dish, and raised an eyebrow.
“This might be a bit expensive for the average household.”
“Hmm, but if we buy the spices in bulk, couldn’t we get the cost down?”
“Well, perhaps if it becomes so delicious and popular that vendors see business potential in mass-distributing it… It could work.”
“Let’s start with just being able to make it in this household first.”
“Indeed. I’ll do my utmost.”
“Thank you. I’m counting on you.”
And so began our experiment.
We dry-roasted the spice mix in a frying pan. Instantly, the rich aroma of curry filled the kitchen air.
With that, the curry powder was complete.
Next came the homemade curry roux, which was a bit more complex.
We melted butter, stirred in flour until smooth, then added grated ginger, garlic, onions, apples, honey, tomatoes, soy sauce—and cooked it all down until there was no moisture left.
Now comes the real deal.
For a classic approach, we seasoned bite-sized chunks of beef with salt, pepper, and our curry powder, then seared them in a pan until they had a nice crust.
The vegetables were pre-cooked in a homemade soup stock made from aromatic veggies, chicken bones, and beef bones. Once they were tender, the beef went in.
Then came the grand finale—adding the roux.
Sounds simple enough, but in practice, the head chef was so busy trying to cook and take notes that eventually Rottenmeier-san had to take over notetaking.
I wanted to help, but since this was our first time making it, the chef insisted on doing the cooking himself, and I just observed (except for spice blending).
We simmered the pot gently.
Finally, we scooped out a little curry into a small dish for a taste test.
I blew on it gently to cool it down, then touched my tongue to the surface.
Hot!
The spicy aroma traveled through my nose, and the complex flavor danced on my tongue—followed by a tingly heat.
Aaagh!? Yep, too spicy for me!
But… the taste was familiar. For a moment, the faces of my family from my previous life floated to the surface.
It was hazy, but I remembered my mom—who looked young for her age and had dimples when she smiled. People thought she had droopy eyes, but they were actually quite sharp. She was kind, but if you angered her, she’d hold a grudge like no one else.
My dad—he didn’t have much hair, but he always stood tall with perfect posture. He never spoke ill of others and loved corny puns.
I took after my mom, so I wasn’t too worried about going bald, but just in case, I’d always serve seaweed salad with curry.
I’d really come a long way…
Maybe the reason I don’t get along with my current parents is that, in a way, I committed the ultimate betrayal by dying before them.
…Nope, can’t think like that. If I do, the “me” inside starts sulking.
It’s not like I wanted to die back then.
I shook my head, chasing away the sentimental fog, and set the dish back down.
“So, um. It’s tasty—but it’s too spicy for me.”
“I see. Then this might not be child-friendly.”
“Not quite. If we add more honey, grated apple, and some Daigo yogurt, it’ll be fine for kids. But for now, please give it a try!”
They both nodded and took small samples.
“…Ah, I see!”
“Oh my, this is…!”
Maybe the spice was kicking in, because both of their faces turned a little red.
It wasn’t too spicy, probably, but definitely hotter than anything served in this mansion before.
As I watched nervously, Rottenmeier-san broke into an unexpectedly bright laugh.
“It is spicy, but the kind that makes you want more. In fact, I think I’d prefer it even spicier!”
“Indeed! My tongue is tingling, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s not just heat—the flavor has depth!”
Nice! They liked it!
But we weren’t done yet.
Now came the rice.
They scooped some slightly firm white rice onto a plate, then ladled the golden-brown curry on top—chunks of onion, potato, carrot, and beef nestled into the mound of white grains.
“You’re putting the curry on top of the rice!?”
“Yes. When you mix it a little and eat it together, the flavor changes again.”
According to the Law of “You Suggested It, You Try It First,” I took a spoonful of curry and rice together and popped it into my mouth.
Still spicy—but when chewed with the sweetness of the rice, it created a whole new experience.
They followed suit, scooping rice and curry together onto their spoons.
“Mmhm!” the chef exclaimed with a surprised sound.
“This is quite the dish!”
“It really is! Though… now I crave even more heat!”
Seeing the two of them giggle like kids, I felt relieved. It looked like curry might really catch on here.
Still, there was room for improvement.
“What do you think, Chef?”
“It’s delicious, no doubt. But there’s still room to refine it.”
“I agree. We can create endless variations—spicy versions for adults, mild ones for children…”
“Shall we start with a child-friendly version?”
“Yes, let’s!”
Finally… I could eat curry rice again.
Yessss!
Curry banzai~I just ate Katsu Curry and I really love this Japanese curry roux with apples and honey. Like the smell of sweet apples and honey and the contrast to how spicy it is. Omurice with curry is absolutely delish~
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