Chapter 84: Everyone, Paris Is Safe! (3)
What were tomatoes?
Weren't they one of the most basic components people commonly thought of in European meals?
Italy's spaghetti,Spain's lasagna,France's ratatouille, well-known from cartoons,As for England… no idea.
Actually, does England even have food? Jelly made from eel isn't food.
Anyway, so many of those dishes were made with tomatoes as a base. How could tomatoes possibly be a toxic plant?
And if tomatoes had poison, then 90 percent of the people living in the twenty-first century would have died.
I shrugged and said to Mr. Florian,
"'Tomatoes are poisonous' is something I'm hearing for the first time."
"Aren't they cousins of belladonna? The fruit looks exactly the same."
"Since when does looking the same make them cousins?"
"A horse and a foal are like that too."
"No, those are animals."
"Well, there's no guarantee plants aren't like that too."
Tsk. That might actually be a bit reasonable…
No—I can't get persuaded by Mr. Florian.
"…Fine. I understand for now. Go get back to work."
"Yes."
Mr. Florian nodded and returned to his seat, continuing his work.
Hmm.
Poison in tomatoes.
Had there been some meaningful change in tomatoes over the roughly two hundred years between my era and now?
Come to think of it, back in the twenty-first century, I felt like I had heard that most of what people ate had gone through seed improvement within the last hundred years.
I didn't know. Seeing was believing.
I grabbed my hat and wallet, left the office, and climbed into the nearest carriage parked nearby.
"Welcome, sir! Where would you like to go?"
A coachman missing one front tooth asked with a wide grin that showed all his teeth.
"Where's the biggest restaurant in Paris?"
At my question, the coachman scratched his chin and spoke.
"Hmm… I believe the biggest one is 'La Grande Taverne de Londres,' next to the Palais-Royal."
"Then let's go there."
"Yes, I'll take you there right away. Ah, would you like to read a magazine on the way? Today's Forbes just came in, and it's really popular these days!"
"…No, thank you."
I waved my hand when the coachman offered the magazine.
I had already checked it with my own eyes this morning before sending it out.
"Damn, if it's prime land like this and a building this big, how much would it cost?"
After a long ride, the restaurant they arrived at boasted a considerable scale right in the middle of Paris.
"Welcome, sir. This is La Grande Taverne de Londres. Is this your first time visiting our restaurant?"
As I entered, a waiter came out, took my hat and outerwear, and asked.
"Ah, yes, it is. I'd like to eat—"
"If it's your first time, I recommend today's special, sir. It's veal ribs grilled with butter."
"…Veal ribs?"
"Yes, that's correct."
At my question, the waiter bowed slightly and replied in a soft tone.
Meat.
And beef ribs? Yeah, I couldn't resist that.
"…I'll take that."
Before I even realized it, I was nodding as I said it to the waiter.
"Then I will prepare Cabernet Sauvignon wine. A fine product blended from Merlot and Cabernet Franc."
"…Yes, that too…"
Hmm… in a way, wasn't this market research?
Wow. A boss who does hands-on market research with his own feet—how admirable.
While I desperately justified myself, a steaming dish was plated and set before me.
Delicious.
Mi-mi!
Sob—after filling myself every day with convenience meals, eating something like this makes my stomach feel like it's dancing with joy!
As I was wiping my mouth with a napkin, the same waiter approached and asked,
"Did you enjoy your meal, sir?"
"…It was too good, that's the problem. Please tell the chef I ate very—"
No, no, wait. I didn't come here just to eat.
"…Waiter, could I meet the chef or the owner?"
"I'm sorry, but that doesn't seem possible at the moment, sir."
The waiter shook his head from side to side as if troubled.
"I-is that so? That's a shame."
"Instead, if you give me your name and contact information, I will arrange a separate appointment."
"Ah, I'd appreciate that. Here is my card."
"Thank you, sir. Later, I'll—"
Smiling as he accepted my card, the waiter's face gradually went pale.
"…What is it?"
"Y-your name is Guillaume de Toulon, is that correct?"
"…Ah."
"I will call the chef at once, Your Excellency!"
"There's no need to—"
Without even listening to my last words, the waiter dashed straight into the kitchen.
Soon, a man in his mid-to-late thirties came running up, then bowed to me and said,
"I am Beauvilliers, chef and owner of La Grande Taverne de Londres, Your Excellency! For what reason have you sought me?"
Uh… Chef, maybe breathe first before you talk.
"…I have something to ask, Chef."
"S-surely you are not here to shut down my restaurant because we once served His Majesty King Louis XVII…?"
"…What?"
What did he take me for? Did I look like I would do something that narrow-minded and filthy?
"This restaurant is everything I have! Please, anything but that!"
"…That's not it. I came to ask whether tomatoes have poison in them or not."
As I patted the chef's shoulder—he looked like he was about to drop to his knees—I spoke.
The chef flinched at my touch, but the moment he heard my question, he seemed to stop caring. With a dumbfounded expression, he said,
"…Tomatoes? Why would tomatoes have poison?"
"Right? No poison, right?"
So this wasn't Earth-5832 where tomatoes were poisonous—it was Earth-1, the one I lived on.
"Of course not. I've even served a tomato dish to the United States ambassador to France."
"You mean Ambassador Jefferson?"
"Yes, that's right."
"…Have you ever made a sauce with tomatoes?"
"That would be… are you referring to 'ketchup,' Your Excellency the Controller-General of Finance?"
"Yes! Yes, ketchup! There's ketchup?"
Oh. Ketchup. You know ketchup.
But unlike my excitement, Chef Beauvilliers's face sank to an entirely different level.
"…There's no way we would keep something like ketchup in a French kitchen. We're not English. How could we do such a thing?"
"What?"
"Ketchup is an English mushroom sauce, isn't it? Putting anchovies together with mushrooms—ugh… maybe because they live on an island, but every Englishman's taste buds have gone rotten."
"…You make it with anchovies and mushrooms?"
"Yes, but… you asked knowing that, didn't you?"
What… ketchup has anchovies and mushrooms? Isn't it made by dumping in salt and sugar with tomatoes?
Wait—was this a time before tomato ketchup existed?
If so, the moment I made it, I'd secure a market big enough to swallow up OX-gi and HaX-z.
Ah, I smell money—seriously.
I looked at the chef and grinned.
"Monsieur Beauvilliers. Would you like to make a tomato sauce with me?"
While we're at it, I'll skim you a little kickback too.
Paris, France.Tuileries Palace.
King Louis XVII—no, Grand Duke Louis-Auguste—tilted his wine glass, swallowed a sip, and continued.
"So I told the Controller-General of Finance! 'Then when will you take my crown, Controller-General!'"
"Oho, so that's what happened."
In front of him, Saint-Just, editor-in-chief of Ears of the Nation's magazine office, held a blank sheet of paper and wrote down Louis-Auguste's words as he spoke.
"Of course, while I was king… I truly committed many misgovernances. I feel guilty enough to look up at the heavens myself."
"…."
"Don't worry, Saint-Just. Now I intend to let it all go and live by giving to people. The Controller-General told me to become a citizen."
"…That really is just like the boss!"
Saint-Just said with a smile.
"Haha! Yes, Guillaume… he's quite an incredible fellow. To be honest, if he had been the king of France instead, wouldn't it have been the case that no citizens would have died at the Bastille…?"
"…."
"I was not fit to be king. Yet sadly, because I sought to possess a seat that did not suit me, did the world not become this bleak? As the great scholar Plato said, perhaps each person has a station that fits them. In a way, even the word 'to rule' feels rather futile."
At Louis-Auguste's last words, Saint-Just—who had been listening closely—rose from his seat.
"Saint-Just, what is it?"
"I believe that willingly stepping down in time is also courage. If not for Your Highness's broad-minded heart, the revolution now might have become far more drenched in blood. And in the first place, isn't the very word 'to rule' a word that cannot avoid sin? One must inevitably oppress others to stand above them."
"Haha, hearing you say that makes my chest feel lighter. It seems the Controller-General attached a truly good person to me."
At the voice coming from before him, Louis-Auguste spoke with a broad smile.
"…To be honest, until I met Your Highness—no, Grand Duke—I had many very bad thoughts about you."
"Hehe, that's only natural."
"But after meeting you, I can feel that you are the same kind of person as me. Perhaps this is the picture the boss wanted…"
"Haha, is that so? Then at least you won't covet my head!"
"No—do you take me for some bloodthirsty archangel, Your Highness?"
"A joke, a joke! Haha!"
The two of them truly liked the new friend they had made.
A small village in northeastern France.
"Didn't you say you've been looking for new work these days?"
"Huh, who told you that?"
"Ah, you're Noel, the model young man of our village—who wouldn't know?"
"…"
At the elder's words, Noel bit his lip.
"Is it because you have no money? No, even working in the civil engineering department is enough to live on."
"Rather than money… I was thinking there might be something I can contribute to society."
"Then how about going up to Paris instead?"
"…Paris?"
"Yes. You can read and write, so wouldn't you find such a position in Paris?"
"Even in Paris, for a government post, don't you have to take an exam?"
"Hmm… is that so?"
"It is, isn't it?"
"Ah! Come to think of it, I heard the company run by that Controller-General of Finance is hiring new people. How about applying there? You've always had huge interest in that Controller-General, haven't you?"
"Guillaume de Toulon is hiring?"
"It says so in this magazine here."
[Various office assistants, accounting, skilled in calculation. We are recruiting people to become family with us! —Ears of the Nation—]
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