In the culinary world, the quality and origin of ingredients often determine the deliciousness of a dish.
At least, that's the general belief.
But—
Is that really true?
The classification of "noble ingredients" and "ordinary ingredients" has never had a clear definition.
Typically, noble ingredients refer to those that are:
• Rare
• Expensive
• Grown in special environments
• Historically significant
Examples?
Caviar. Black truffles. Saffron. Kobe beef.
These luxurious ingredients have long been associated with prestige, class, and exclusivity.
For someone like Erina, who was raised among the elite, high-end dishes made with rare ingredients weren't just about flavor—
They were a symbol of status.
A dish wasn't merely food.
It was luxury.
A means to distinguish the refined from the ordinary.
Take, for example—
A simple stir-fried tomato and egg dish.
No matter how perfectly it was prepared, Erina wouldn't spare it a second glance.
Why?
Because in her mind—
Expecting common ingredients to compete with noble ones was like expecting rocks to turn into gold.
Impossible.
So, when she heard that a skewer costing less than 100 yen had been deemed superior to a 100,000-yen foie gras dish—
Her immediate reaction?
Utter disbelief.
It simply defied logic.
Before they knew it—
The night deepened, and a light drizzle began falling outside.
Inside the tavern, a warm glow flickered against the wooden walls.
Behind the counter, the owner and head chef, Zane, had already begun his nightly routine—
Cooking.
Tonight, like clockwork, Rindō Kobayashi had arrived.
Her presence added a lively energy to the cozy atmosphere.
Her order?
• One bottle of yuzu sake
• Two portions of spicy clams
• One bowl of rice ball tea-soaked rice
• Three extra-large octopus takoyaki
• One bowl of Japanese cold Inaniwa soba
• One serving of eel and egg roll
For someone with a ferocious appetite, this was just another ordinary meal.
After placing her order, she settled into her usual seat closest to the cooking station.
Before anything else—
She reached for the yuzu sake.
The golden liquid swirled in the glass, its refreshing citrus aroma blending with the sharpness of alcohol.
She took a sip.
A pleasant warmth spread down her throat, leaving behind a faint, intoxicating fragrance of yuzu.
"Ah~"
She exhaled in satisfaction, her eyes half-lidded.
"This sake is amazing!"
With a blissful sigh, she leaned back—
Her gaze drifting toward Zane.
He was meticulously wiping down his chef's knife with a clean cloth.
His expression?
Serious. Focused.
The soft glow of the tavern lights reflected off the sharp blade, emphasizing the precision in his hands.
Watching him, Rindō felt a strange mix of emotions—
Envy. Admiration. Affection. Excitement.
He was different from the chefs she had known.
There was something effortless about his skill—
A quiet confidence that was utterly captivating.
Finally, she tore her eyes away and spoke.
"Owner…"
"When I tried to make a mille-feuille at home—"
She hesitated.
"I realized how huge the gap is between your skills and mine."
"Just rolling the pastry layers as thin as paper—"
"I repeated the process dozens of times, and still, I couldn't achieve the same result!"
A wry smile tugged at her lips.
"Your skills are beyond what we students at Tōtsuki could ever hope to reach in a lifetime."
Zane glanced at her and shrugged.
"You're exaggerating."
"Even if I am skilled—"
He set the knife down and gave a casual smile.
"I'm still just a small tavern owner."
Truthfully, he hadn't expected to see her again so soon.
After all—
She had spent the entire night at his tavern yesterday.
She had even come back for breakfast this morning.
And yet—
Here she was again, right on time.
He sighed internally.
With someone like her around, it seemed his peaceful days were over.
"Tsk!"
Rindō clicked her tongue.
"Do you really have to be so modest?"
She narrowed her eyes.
"Last night, you told me you used to be the head chef of a five-star hotel!"
"Besides—"
Her voice softened, and a faint blush dusted her cheeks.
"I've never seen you as just a tavern owner."
She hesitated, then added in a quiet voice—
"To me, you're the greatest chef in the world."
…
The moment the words left her lips, she froze.
Realizing what she had just said, a deep blush crept up her face.
That was way too embarrassing!
Zane arched an eyebrow.
"Rindō, you're making my hair stand on end."
"Oh, come on!" She waved her hand, flustered.
"I meant what I said!"
"But yeah… hearing it out loud kinda makes me wanna cringe too."
To avoid further embarrassment—
She buried her face in her food, stuffing her mouth with takoyaki as a distraction.
Zane merely chuckled.
Instead of responding, he turned his attention back to his cooking.
In the quiet moments that followed, Rindō found herself lost in thought.
Tōtsuki Culinary Academy—
The most prestigious culinary school in Japan.
The elite of the elite trained there.
And yet—
Compared to the greater culinary world, even Tōtsuki seemed small.
Zane…
He wasn't like the students at Tōtsuki.
His passion for cooking ran deeper.
There was something about his dedication—
The way he cooked not for status or profit, but for the joy of creation.
With every dish he made, he awakened flavors, inspired taste buds, and left a mark on those who ate his food.
And unlike other chefs—
He always put people first.
His dishes weren't just about technique.
They were about care, warmth, and understanding.
"I wonder…"
Rindō muttered absently, staring into her drink.
"Could a chef like him… solve Momo Akanegakubo's problem?"
Clank! Clank! Clank!
The sound of precise knife work snapped her out of her thoughts.
Zane's movements were flawless, his rhythm mesmerizing.
Rindō watched in awe.
She sighed, resting her chin in her palm.
"Hmm… How should I put it?"
She smirked.
"Men who can cook are really handsome."