Chapter 18

Draft

___

You were having dinner one day, Lemuel turned his fork and seemed to be considering something. You look up at him, he taps the plate with his fork and says, "Do you like it like this, or do priests need to eat this way?"

You look at his plate and say, "Beef?"

"No, I'm talking about..." Lemuel pauses, and you think he may have swallowed something unpleasant, "Well, cooked stuff."

Today's dinner is whole-wheat bread, beef, green beans, and apples, You don't see anything wrong. "Cooked food is healthier," You ask. "Do you like it raw?"

"When the average person says 'cooked food,' they don't mean food cooked by putting all the ingredients in a pot and boiling it," Lemuel says. "You didn't even add salt!"

"We've already drunk salty water," You remind him.

"That's why you make me drink that deadly salty glass of water every morning?" Lemuel mutters in shock. "Wasn't it just some weird way of life or religious ritual?"

"Six grams of salt," You explain, "Is in line with the recommended daily salt intake for the human body."

"Fuck," Lemeul curses.

"Please don't swear," You remind again.

You spend a little time communicating and you finally understand that he's been dissatisfied with the food, not because of the ingredients, but because of the way you cook it. You'll choose the most nutritionally balanced ingredients, separate them by "should be eaten raw" and "needs to be cooked". You mix the latter evenly, put them in a pot, add water, and bring it to a boil. In the beginning, you couldn't always control the heat, the times for each ingredient to be cooked were different. In order to avoid the ingredients that need to be cooked more being undercooked, you've become used to letting the mixture simmer for a while. Anyway, as long as the water doesn't dry, the ingredients wouldn't burn. You only cook this way and don't think there's anything wrong with it.

"You grew up eating this?" Lemuel says, "You're not biological, right?"

"No, the Holy See is equipped with nutritional supplements." You answer, surprised by Lemuel's observation skills, "Yes, I was adopted."

Lemuel is speechless.

"I actually endured this for months," He mutters. "I thought you just couldn't get along with me, or like giving yourself a hard time, like those ascetic monks..."

"Ascetic monks don't give themselves a hard time,'" You explain, "They sharpen their bodies and bring their spirits closer to the Lord."

Lemuel sighs deeply, he asks, "Would you mind if I cook tomorrow?"

There's no reason for you to refuse Lemuel's request. At noon the next day you bring back fresh ingredients, Lemuel takes it and walks into the kitchen.

He washed the drumstick, turned the tip of the knife around the joint, and cut off the skin, tendons, and cartilage from the meat cleanly. Lemeul's obviously very good at using a knife, you barely understand what he's doing. He pulls the chicken's bones out of the chicken thigh, and it's picked clean, with barely visible meat residues. Lemuel holds the boneless chicken with his left hand, and stabs it a few times with the knife in his right hand. You have no clue as to why he's torturing the chicken carcass, he sees your confusion and takes the time to explain: "This'll make it more delicious, the chicken skin won't shrink due to heat and separate from the chicken. It wouldn't taste as good if it falls off."

You have no idea what he's talking about but you nod your head anyway.

Lemuel also washed the onions and carrots you brought, cut them into pieces, and set them aside. He asks if you have aby garlic, rosemary, black pepper, or honey, and sighs at the answer of no to all of them, it almost made you feel guilty. "Okay, at least you have this," He mutters, patting the can of salt like a puppy.

He pours salt over the cut chicken pieces, rubbing them so that the grains of salt would seep in. You hesitate, but Lemuel glances at you and suddenly realizes. He seem torn between laughing or crying. "Eating a few more grams of salt won't kill you!" He says.

You have nothing to say.

You watch him pull out the pan you've never used from the cupboard, put it on the stovetop for a while over low heat, pour on oil, and continue heating. When Lemuel found that there was no spatula in the kitchen at all (the spatula left by the previous owner had been broken for some reason, you've never bought a substitute), he again showed that expression of speechlessness.

"You're a rich priest." Lemuel shakes his head and turns to get his dinner fork, "How many years have you lived here? The house's defense couldn't have been done in a year or two... although I feel like I'm right, I'm not familiar with spells."

"Five years," You reply.

"Five years and you never thought to buy a spatula." Lemuel complains.

You're want to say something, Lemuel transfers the diced chicken into the pan with a fork, the oil in the pan crackles, making you nervous and worried about whether its going to explode. Prayers fit for the situation were already on the tip of your tongue and ready to go, but Lemuel didn't look worried at all. He looks very relaxed, and even told you about his experience of sneaking into someone else's house and borrowing their kitchen when he was homeless. He said that it was very cold and snowy outside, and they had just planned to climb over the wall to steal a lighter, but the family didn't have a lighter, and the kitchen was full. He and his sister boiled honey and butter from the kitchen with the green acorns they found, and it tasted very good.

He casually fiddles with the chickens using his fork, turning them over and over, and you're reminded of religious paintings where demons in hell use steel forks to turn sinners over and over on hot stone slabs. A horned guest is adeptly using steel forks and frying pans in your kitchen while you, a priest, stands by watching the hissing corpses in the frying pan, listening to the chef confess his illegal deeds of trespassing and feeling hungry.

Onions and carrots are also added, and their aroma blends in with the chicken. The chicken pieces discolors during the tumble, turning from a pale to a golden hue, a little burnt in places, but the black bits also looked lovely, like caramel. Fragrant oil oozes from the cut surface of the chicken, and as Lemuel stirs, the vegetables scattered next to the chicken pieces become dyed the shiny gleam.

Lemuel makes the chicken nuggets with onions and carrots, and then the tomato soup, all ready in minutes, the former hadn't cooled yet when the latter was put into a bowl. He used all the ingredients you brought back, he just picked it up and made a meal. They look like nothing you've ever seen, they're all delicious and hot, completely unlike what you make, and you think that Lemuel is amazing.

The chicken's charred skin is crispy and delicious, and when your teeth dig in, delicious gravy pours out, drenching your tongue. It's hotter than you think, and you hiss from the scald, and Lemuel laughs and hands you the milk.

Even if you burned your tongue, you still find the taste impressive. The slightly charred skin is savory and crispy, the chicken encased inside is soft and juicy, and the salt seems to produce a peculiar reaction to it, making it so much better than it used to be. Amazing, you think, subconsciously slowing down your chewing speed, allowing your teeth and tongue to make full contact with it. It's also nice to have your teeth cut through the chicken, it's kind of soft and elastic, and you feel like your tongue is just like an iron plate, because the contact snaps.

You remember the first time you ate an apple, only your shock could be comparable to what you're feeling in the present. The fresh pulp cracks under your teeth, the juice splashes, and your mouth is filled with the aroma. It's a taste completely different taste from that of nutritional supplements, sweet and fragrant, almost touching you. At that time you thought irreverently, if the original forbidden fruit tasted like this, then you can't blame your ancestors for being driven out of the Garden of Eden.

You hear a low chuckle, Lemuel has emptied his plate and is now looking at you with his chin up, his other hand is fiddling with his fork. You feel like he's laughing at you, but you don't sense much malice. He might be watching you eat like you might watch his claws catch yarn. Your stomach is warm because of this food, because of this laughter.

"What on earth did you grow up with?" Lemuel asks.

Compared with the previous sigh, this time it's closer to a curious question. You describe to him the nutritional supplements distributed by the Holy See, a very nutritionally balanced paste food that's easy to carry and eat, a special offering for priests. Three nutritional supplements a day could provide the nutritional needs of an adult, and there were different varieties from infants to middle-aged to elderly. Lemuel is amazed and at the same time uninterested.

"Sounds nasty," Lemuel says. "Does it tastes like wax or sawdust, maybe?"

"I don't know," You answer honestly. "I haven't eaten wax and sawdust."

"Doesn't sound like there's much comparison." Lemuel shrugs, "I haven't eaten those nutritional supplements."

"Have you eaten wax and sawdust?" You ask in surprise.

"When I was starving... but at least I didn't have to eat that, and I don't have the 'skill' to turn everything into that pile of feed you make," He says. "Go pity yourself."

That night, you brought back spatula, garlic, rosemary, black pepper and honey. Lemuel made pasta and kelp soup, leaving the beef you brought. "Beef needs to be stewed a few hours in advance," He explains. "It's better with some red wine, or brandy."

Lemuel puts the beef in the refrigerator, it looks like he's in a good mood, even humming unconsciously as he serves the soup. You don't know what beef stew tastes like, but he looks so expectant that you've begun sincerely expecting it too.

____

PastTimer: Sorry of rthe delay and rough quality I was rewatching Jacksepticeye's let's play of Detriot: Become Human and lost track of time, I'm so sorry- but Enoch's a lot like Connor, right?