Chapter 13
“You promised you’d come…”
Alina sighed as she stared at the mountain of potatoes stacked higher than her own height.
This was the task Trudy assigned her today.
Potato peeling.
When she first heard the order, she thought it was simple enough.
But seeing the enormous pile in front of her, she felt helpless.
At this rate, she had a terrible feeling she would have to sacrifice her lunch break to peel them all.
‘No… not a feeling. It’s basically guaranteed.’
Most likely, Alina would not be able to keep her promise to meet Rihart today.
The palace kitchen didn’t only prepare meals for the imperial family—it also handled the meals for knights and all palace workers.
So every day, they had to cook at least 200 portions.
Even starting ingredient prep at 5 a.m. wasn’t enough to comfortably finish before the evening banquet.
Thankfully, lunch for the imperial family was buffet-style, and everyone else—like the knights—ate smaller portions served throughout the day.
So lunch prep wasn’t too demanding.
The real problem was the banquet, the most formal and extravagant meal of the day.
Preparing potatoes for over 200 people was overwhelming for one person.
If Rihart hadn’t healed her earlier, Alina might have collapsed again.
“Well… it has to be done. Let’s just start. If I keep working, the pile will shrink eventually.”
Like casting a spell on herself, she began peeling.
But even after two hours, then three, the pile didn’t look any smaller.
“How’s it going?”
Just when her back was aching badly, Marika—the one assigned to onions today—showed up with red, teary eyes.
Apparently, the onion workload was just as terrible.
Alina tapped her sore back and asked:
“How does it look to you?”
“It looks like it’s not going well at all. I finished all the onions, and you still have a long way to go.”
Marika pouted at the huge potato mountain beside her.
“Trudy is too much. Making you peel all of this by yourself? That’s basically bullying. Three people were working on the onions!”
Alina gave a small laugh.
“Why would Trudy bully me?”
“Come on, our sous-chef always acts like something is bothering her. Who knows what goes on in her head.”
Rolling up her sleeves, Marika sat down and began helping peel potatoes.
“Last time, Greta praised you once and Trudy immediately asked if you two were relatives. Meanwhile, I’m the only relative you actually have here. Isn’t that the most baseless jealousy you’ve ever heard?”
“Baseless, huh…”
Alina set down the potato she was peeling.
“Speaking of baseless… maybe this is a chance to find a fundamental solution.”
“To what?”
“Marika, have you ever eaten potatoes with the skin on?”
Marika stared at her like she was insane.
“No? Did Zenotat even have a potato-skin dish?”
She stopped peeling and looked up, thinking.
She had never eaten such a dish while working at the royal palace in Zenotat.
“Nope. Nothing like that. Right?”
Marika answered while searching her memories.
Alina nodded.
If Marika had never seen it, then it wasn’t something served in the Zenotat royal palace.
Marika had only endured working there because of the food—so she knew the cuisine well.
Alina looked at the potatoes in front of her.
“Right. In Zenotat, they usually made mashed potatoes. Lots of mashed potatoes.”
“Everyone did! Even King Ranshel never tasted a potato-skin dish. I’m sure of that.”
Marika spoke firmly. She had actually tasted the king’s leftovers.
Zenotat had a tradition where the king’s unfinished meals were given to his personal maids.
Even though they were cold leftovers, compared to Malerhark food, they were practically works of art.
But the truly luxurious meals were only for King Ranshel and his closest circle.
All of Ranshel’s other children—except for the crown prince—were served hard, stale bread and sprouted potatoes.
Marika had been shocked the first time she saw it.
Most of the palace’s residents were eating food worse than the king’s scraps.
Because of that, Marika—a maid—often ate better than the princes and princesses.
What shocked her most was that no one thought this was strange.
Working in Zenotat had destroyed all her illusions about “the country of gourmet dining.”
The place was only fancy on the outside.
Even social welfare for citizens was terrible.
Even though Alina had been a palace maid, she had always been hungry.
Her whole body was bruised constantly… meaning she was not only unpaid properly but abused too.
Seeing Alina refuse to pity herself and work hard to learn cooking made Marika take her side.
And after tasting Alina’s omelet, Marika began trusting her completely.
Alina’s omelet was far better than the palace head chef’s.
A long oval omelet with smooth edges.
When cut down the center with a knife, a soft golden egg flowed out like a waterfall.
No cream added—yet unbelievably silky.
So even when Alina mentioned something bizarre like potato-skin dishes, Marika trusted her.
“I’ve never eaten it, but if you made it, even dirt would taste good.”
“Ah, I’ll wash the dirt really well first, of course.”
Alina smiled shyly at Marika’s complete faith.
Marika giggled.
“Do whatever you want. No one will notice if a few potatoes disappear from this mountain. Greta already gave you permission to use ingredients.”
“Then should I try it?”
Encouraged, Alina took three or four potatoes from the big crate.
She held the round potatoes in her pale hands and stared at them intensely before turning to Marika.
“I’m still just a kitchen assistant. A dish I make won’t be served to the imperial family. Right?”
“Well, yeah. You’d need to be at least a sous-chef to suggest menu items.”
Marika grimaced.
“Ugh, Trudy… If only Greta were here, we could ask her instead. But today’s Nina’s recital at the orphanage.”
“Nothing we can do.”
Alina sighed too.
She would’ve preferred showing this dish to Greta. But Greta was finally spending time with her daughter after missing it for so long because Trudy took sudden vacations.
So Alina settled for the next-best option.
“What’s Trudy doing now?”
“When I walked by, she was relaxing in the kitchen eating that thick, sour yogurt she likes. You know, the one that tastes like nothing and isn’t sweet at all.”
Marika scrunched up her face.
She was from Malerhark, but her taste was completely Zenotat.
“She always acts like the palace belongs to her the moment Greta isn’t around.”
But Alina brightened.
“Oh, perfect. Trudy will like this dish.”
***
“You’re not trying to get out of peeling potatoes, are you?”
Trudy yawned lazily as she sat before Alina and Marika, who had called her over.
“Potatoes should be fried. That’s the rule. Same with sweet potatoes, pumpkins, everything.”
She sat at the table, smirking.
“Honestly, what would a Zenotat person know about frying? Eating dirt-covered peels… You dragged me out for this?”
Alina gently pushed a white plate toward her.
“I scrubbed them clean with a scouring pad, so please try it without worrying.”
Trudy eyed the dish suspiciously.
It looked like a mashed whole potato—skin and all—flattened slightly, with thin crispy bits of potato skin sticking up.
It looked almost like boiled potatoes with an ultra-thin crunchy coating.
Steam rose between the cracks.
“What is this? Just boiled potatoes?”
“It’s a little different. I boiled them and smashed them, then baked them in the oven. That makes the skin crispy.”
“Hmph. Doesn’t sound impressive.”
Still, she couldn’t resist freshly cooked potatoes. She picked up a fork.
“Wait, just a moment.”
Before she could stab into it, Alina drizzled olive oil and sprinkled salt over it, then added a generous spoonful of thick white yogurt.
Lastly, she squeezed a lemon slice over the entire plate and sprinkled crushed walnuts.
“Okay, now it’s ready.”
“What is this supposed to be?”
“Smash-baked potatoes. You boil them with the skin on, smash them, and bake until golden.”
“Hmm.”
Trudy poked the yogurt on top and tasted it.
A tangy, refreshing, very familiar flavor.
Her eyes widened.
“This is yogurt, isn’t it? You used yogurt instead of sour cream?”
“Sour cream is great too, but too many heavy dishes in a row can upset the stomach. Yogurt—with less sweetness—works as a lighter alternative.”
Trudy’s eyes widened again. She had eaten yogurt every day but never thought to use it this way.
Still, she lifted her chin proudly.
“I knew that.”
“Try it with the yogurt on top.”
Trudy put a bite of steaming potato with yogurt into her mouth.
The tangy yogurt blended smoothly with the potato, which could have been bland by itself.
The more she chewed, the more the textures mixed into something like soft mashed potatoes.
Here and there, crispy potato skin and crunchy walnuts added fun contrast.
As she emptied the plate without a word, Alina spoke:
“Sometimes people make a side dish where they put butter on hot sweet potatoes. I just adapted the idea for potatoes—and made sure the skin could be eaten too.”
“……”
“Trudy? How is it?”
“…Well. It’s not bad.”
