Work Text:
Kuidaore (Japanese) — (n) to eat yourself into bankruptcy
Some women like pearls, while some prefer coral. Others are mesmerized by trinkets of gold or silver, bracelets and combs, pins and buttons. They enjoy their kimonos and fine cloths, spun from delicate silks and linens, and they ooh and aah when the merchants lay out their hair pieces or fans, made from prized ivories and agates, sourced from only the best purveyors. Ribbons and makeup, sashes and sandals — women love them all, eager to shop and brandish their treasures.
You, however, are not interested in such superficial endeavors. Really, the best things in life are those that make you content at heart and full in the stomach — food. You prefer not to waste your money on clothing or items of beauty. Instead, you spend all of your money on feeding yourself and other people.
The offerings at the Kamiya Dojo are usually modest, though today there is to be a celebration, and you find yourself in the kitchen, ready to prepare for the feast. There is to be freshly prepared sushi, fish that is provided by local fisherman, scaled and boned so that the fillets are pink and beautiful. You are also making tempura, lightly fried so that the batter is hot and crispy and melts in your mouth. Edamame, fried tofu, and mochi are already delivered as appetizers to the guests, divided up into bowls and served with hot broth and soy sauce.
There are also boxes full of rice balls and gyoza, still warm from your preparation, and you send off Ayame and Suzume, each with a box in hand. You begin to serve up bowls of white rice, breathing in the hot steam and relishing the feeling against the breeze from the window.
"You've been working so hard, Miss _____. You should go enjoy yourself, that you should."
You look up to see Kenshin, who had arrived with an armful of yams. He grins at you as he sets his ingredients on the counter top.
"Oh, no," you reply. "I'm happy to be here. I can snack all I want — that's my favorite part about cooking. The party's barely started, and I'm already full. I get food at its freshest! Besides, I wouldn't want to leave all the work to you."
"If you insist," he says. "I would enjoy the company."
You continue to work beside Kenshin, chopping vegetables, peeling yams, and stirring the pot of beef stew left simmering on the fire. The kitchen smells of spices, the rich flavor of cooking meat, and the aroma of onions and garlic. You try some of your stew, letting the broth linger on your tongue — it is rich and spicy, and it is so hot that it burns your tongue. The stew is so tasty, however, that you ignore the pain and go for another spoonful.
With a smile on your face, you begin the ohagi, working first with the red bean paste. You add a bit of sugar, a pinch of salt, and sample it, the grainy and soft texture a familiar sensation in your mouth — it brings back childhood memories. It is sweet and light in flavor, just the way you like it. The glutinous rice is cooked till soft, and you mash it with a pestle until it becomes a sticky substance, which you then roll into balls. You later add a variety of toppings, including the red bean paste, chopped walnuts, and sesame seeds.
You then taste some of the finished product, savoring the light sweetness.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Kenshin sneaking a bite of your ohagi. "You really are a wonderful cook, Miss _____. You should cook for us more often, that you should."
"If I cook any more for you, I'll be a beggar." But you smile and add, "Not that I mind. I'll cook for you anytime."