Chapter 7

I responded to my mother's invitation and went downstairs. In the kitchen, my father was making a strained face in front of what looked like a new dish.

Our inn is one of several in the town of Fatia. Located on the outskirts of town, it's not as prosperous as the grand inns in the center, but it gets a fair share of visitors and adventurers because it's close to the gate leading out of town. It seems to be doing well enough that it won't go out of business anytime soon.

My father is the second generation to run the inn, having inherited it from his grandfather. My mother is the daughter of a nearby armor shop and was his childhood friend.

So, why was my father making such a strange face all by himself...?

"Come on, Mark, Nicolas, try it, please."

My mother, with a big smile, urged us to try the dish in front of us. The plate contained a white soup. It seemed to have potatoes and carrots...? No meat.

By the way, this world has quite a few vegetables similar to those from my previous life. Thanks to the skill that translates foreign languages, similar vegetables are called by the same names as in my previous life. It's quite convenient. So, the appearance wasn't too bad. But my father's face told the whole story. Ah, this is not good.

At our inn, my father is generally in charge of cooking, while my mother and the helper auntie handle cleaning the guest rooms and serving in the dining area, which takes up about half of the first floor.

In other words, my mother is not supposed to cook as part of her job, but she still wants to. My father, being a second-generation innkeeper, has been good at cooking since childhood, and my mother grew up as his childhood friend, being fed by his cooking.

Because of this process, she married into the inn without specifically learning how to cook and now supports the family as a cleaner and server. However, she has always been insecure about her cooking skills. She wanted to cook for her children, a feeling that emerged for the first time after having a child.

My father, understanding her feelings, has been teaching her how to cook, but the results haven't been great.

Through her efforts, she has become somewhat competent at home cooking, which is still inferior to my father's professional level, but she tends to want to add a twist to her dishes.

With my father watching, it shouldn't be too bad, but apparently, she adds her secret ingredients when he's not looking.

According to her, even if she follows my father's instructions, she can't surpass his taste. So, she believes she needs to add her own secret ingredients to make a difference. I think that's a bit much, but I want to support her in a warm and encouraging way.

This is my mother's latest dish, cultivated in such a warm environment. From the look on my father's face, it's clear that she added something when he wasn't looking. The question is how destructive it is.

"Mom, did you taste it?"

"Yes, I did. It has a taste I've never had before, and I think it's going to be good."

That's the thing. My mother has a poor sense of taste. And my father, being soft on her and not good with words, can't criticize her. So, the taste test falls on us two.

If we say something nice, this dish might end up on the menu in the inn's dining area. While the inn is doing well now, this could be the first step towards its decline, and it's not an exaggeration to say our lives depend on it. For a five-year-old, this is a heavy burden.

By the way, until now, the helper auntie has been doing the taste tests and giving accurate advice, but as we've grown, the role has shifted to us. My mother, wanting her children to try her cooking first, seems to be timing it when the auntie is not around.

Well, there's no point in worrying. Let's try it...!

...The white soup is apparently mainly made with milk. Milk-based soups are not uncommon. A soup made by slowly simmering ingredients like onions has a very gentle taste, and in my previous life, I used to enjoy it as a hidden menu item at my favorite izakaya, often having it as a closing dish after drinking.

...But! This is something different! The taste, which should be gentle, is incredibly bitter. What is this... What did she add to make it taste so bad?!

"Brother, please quickly give her the bad news."

Nicolas, with a blank expression, slurped the soup and telepathically told me. He pretends to be a good boy and doesn't want to upset my mother. So, it's my job to give the bad news. When the dish is good, he says "It's delicious!" with an angelic smile faster than I do. ...Anyway, I'll be honest now.

"Mom, this isn't good. What did you add?"

There! I said it clearly! My father covered his face with one hand and looked up, and Nicolas has disappeared. Wow, Nicolas looks a bit faded. Is it some kind of skill?

"Huh? It's not good? That's strange. I added crushed Dogyunza berries as a secret ingredient. Don't you think the bitterness of the berries enhances the sweetness of the milk and makes it taste even sweeter?"

Here it comes! An ingredient that transcends the translation barrier! It's a unique ingredient here. I don't know it, but it seems to be a very bitter berry. No wonder it tastes like this.

"I don't think adding bitterness to a sweet dish makes it better. Besides, you must have added too much, making it only bitter."

"I see, I did it again... I thought this time I could make you happy... I'm sorry?"

My mother lowered her eyebrows and apologized. It's really a dish made with good intentions and love, so saying no makes me feel guilty. I could say it's delicious and eat it, but I don't want the inn's future to suffer. I wish my father and Nicolas could understand the burden of being the one to deliver the bad news.

I glanced at my father, and he had his hand raised in front of his face, making a gesture that said "Sorry!" This gesture is understood in this world too.

Well, it's bad, but it's not inedible, and the ingredients would be wasted.

"But I can still eat it all. Try to make something delicious next time!"

And I smiled. I think I'm a very handsome son for not forgetting to follow up.

And I finished it. ...Ugh, my mouth still tastes bitter, and thinking about my stomach being filled with bitter soup makes me feel sick. I need to go for a walk to settle my stomach. I'll just go for a walk around the area.

"Thank you for the meal. I'm going to the nearby vacant lot!"

I left my sister, who had turned into a soup-sipping machine, and headed for the vacant lot.