Walnut Syrup And Pancakes

The next time the black-haired man visited, the first signs of spring were gradually beginning to appear in the mountains.

The doorbell rang once.

“Welcome!”

I called toward the entrance from the kitchen, but there was no sign of a customer.

“…?”

I thought it was strange, but sometimes customers changed their minds just before entering.

I didn’t think much of it and returned to making pancakes.

I carefully poured some pancake batter into the frying pan…

“…Proprietor.”

The kitchen’s back door opened, and the black-haired man and his brown-haired subordinate poked their heads inside.

“May we come in?”

“Of course. Welcome!”

“What a relief. The dining room is… rather difficult to enter,” the black-haired man said awkwardly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Recently, my inn had become a famous dating spot among the townspeople.

The dining room was packed with young couples.

It had become a rather uncomfortable place for two knights in their late twenties.

There were stretches of the highway lined with plane trees and almond trees, forming beautiful avenues.

When the almond trees blossomed in spring, the scenery was breathtaking, and the area was famous locally for its beauty.

Since my house stood at the end of one of these almond-lined avenues, young couples had recently begun stopping by.

I’d started serving light meals and snacks that would appeal to young people, including pancakes. Apparently, they’d become quite the talk of the town, and my inn was now a regular stop on the local dating circuit.

Since the pancakes required generous amounts of eggs, milk, sugar, and wheat flour, their production costs were relatively high. I charged half a silver coin per person.

That had to be fairly expensive for young people, but they were proving remarkably popular.

“Good grief.”

Apparently overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of all those young lovers, the black-haired man and his brown-haired companion sat down at the kitchen table, looking thoroughly exhausted.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you, but… you seem rather busy.”

“Yes, business has been wonderful, thankfully. But they’ll all return to town before evening. They’re on dates, after all.”

It was shortly after noon. Although the dining room was bustling now, it would be practically empty in another hour.

“I see. Would you mind if we waited here?”

“I’m sorry I can only offer you seats in the kitchen. Would you like something to eat?”

“I’d like to try those pancakes of yours,” the brown-haired man said.

“We have three varieties of pancakes: ‘Fluffy,’ ‘Moist,’ and ‘Mixed,’ which lets you try both. I usually recommend the Mixed Pancakes to first-time customers. Would you like those?”

“Ah, yes. I’ll have the Mixed Pancakes, then.”

“I’ll have the same. But there’s no need to serve us before your other customers,” the black-haired man said.

“Of course. Thank you.”

While continuing to cook pancakes, I placed some snacks on the kitchen table for the two men: marinated chicory and prosciutto salad, cheese, and sun-dried tomatoes preserved in oil.

“Mind if I have some sausages, too?”

The black-haired man eagerly got to his feet and went into the adjoining storeroom to fetch some smoked meat.

He skewered the sausages he’d brought back on a meat fork and began roasting them over the fireplace.

“Lord Alvin, you’ve certainly gotten used to this place,” the brown-haired man remarked.

He sounded slightly exasperated, but the black-haired man looked rather proud of himself.

“How many times do you think I’ve been here?”

An hour later, having finally finished the last of my customers’ orders, I prepared Mixed Pancakes for the two men, with two fluffy pancakes and two moist pancakes on each plate.

The fluffy variety was made using baking soda.

I mixed wheat flour, rye flour, and baking soda, then added eggs, yogurt, milk, and sugar. After mixing everything together again, the batter was ready. All that remained was to cook it in a frying pan.

The moist variety contained no baking soda. They were what you might call traditional pancakes.

The ingredients were almost identical, except that I omitted the yogurt and replaced the baking soda with apple yeast. The preparation method wasn’t particularly different, either, but the crucial step was allowing the batter to ferment for several hours beforehand.

The fluffy pancakes rose thanks to the baking soda. They puffed up beautifully and had a light, airy texture.

The moist pancakes rose through fermentation with the apple yeast, giving them a slightly chewy texture.

I served both kinds with butter and syrup, and the dish was complete.

The two men tucked into their pancakes with tremendous enthusiasm.

“Delicious! I particularly like these fluffy ones.”

“I like both varieties. It’s difficult to choose between them.”

“And this syrup goes wonderfully with them. You can really taste the bounty of the forest.”

“Indeed. The pancakes are practically an excuse to enjoy the syrup.”

They exchanged their impressions as they ate, and once they’d finished their pancakes, the black-haired man spoke up.

“By the way… what are you doing over there?”

His gaze was directed toward the fireplace.

Above the burning logs stood a sturdy iron rack, upon which an assortment of pots and pans of every conceivable size had been arranged.

Since my house stood at the foot of the mountains and it was still quite chilly, there was nothing unusual about having a fire burning in the fireplace. However, the sight of so many pots of different sizes crammed together above it was certainly unusual.

Moreover, the entire house was filled with the sweet fragrance rising from those pots.

“That’s tree sap.”

“Tree sap?”

“I’m reducing the sap I’ve collected.”

My house was surrounded by forest, and several of the trees growing there, including plane trees, walnut trees, and birches, produced sap that could be collected. According to a book I’d read, trees called maples produced particularly sweet, fragrant sap, but they didn’t grow naturally in our country.

Sap could only be collected during the brief period between the melting of the snow and the arrival of spring.

During that time, I drilled small holes in the trunks of the trees, collected the sap dripping from them in buckets, and slowly reduced it over low heat to make syrup.

As for the yield, it took approximately forty to fifty liters of sap to produce a single liter of syrup.

It was currently the season for collecting sap from plane trees and walnut trees, and I was gathering around five or six liters every day. Since the sap had to be simmered continuously for several days, practically every pot in my house had been in constant use lately.

Still, all I had to do was gently reduce the sap over low heat without allowing it to burn, and eventually it turned into syrup. Noah and Mirei were absolutely delighted by the process.

“Oh, and I’m only collecting sap from trees on my own property, of course.”

I made sure to point that out before either of them could raise the issue.

Actually, the lord of this territory had officially prohibited syrup production.

There was a reason for the prohibition. Apparently, tapping trees for sap could cause considerable damage, and in the worst cases, it could even kill them.

Forestry was a major industry in this region, so allowing trees to die for the sake of collecting sap would defeat the purpose. Consequently, syrup production had been prohibited.

However, collecting sap from trees in privately owned forests was permitted.

The black-haired man let out a long sigh.

“Haah… If the syrup tastes this good, perhaps we ought to allow the people of the territory to collect sap after all.”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure about that.”

I was the one who answered.

“I know it sounds strange coming from someone who’s doing it herself, but letting amateurs drill holes in trees isn’t a particularly good idea. I think maintaining the current prohibition, or introducing a permit system restricted to lumberjacks and others who are knowledgeable about forests, would be preferable.”

Collecting sap involved drilling holes approximately four or five centimeters deep into trees and extracting the sap, which was essentially their equivalent of bodily fluids. Just as with humans, bacteria could enter through the wounds left by those holes and cause infections.

Since I was an amateur who’d only learned about the procedure from books, I was terrified every time I did it.

“My homemade ointment seems to be working, so I’m a little less worried, but…”

Before I could finish, the black-haired man and his brown-haired companion suddenly exchanged startled looks.

“Proprietor, I’d like to hear more about that ointment. What exactly did you do?”

“Er…”

What did he mean, what had I done? I’d simply made an ointment.

I wasn’t even certain whether it was effective on trees, but I’d thought it would be better than doing nothing, so I’d mixed together some ingredients I had at home and made it myself.

Selling medicine in this territory required permission from the town hall, so I hadn’t sold any. Although I had shared some with a guest…

“Ah!”

I suddenly remembered.

It was something that had happened a few days earlier.

A group of men, apparently knights from the fortress, had visited my inn. One of them had suffered a serious injury.

His companions had transported him by carriage all the way from the fortress, but the journey along the mountain road had apparently taken a considerable toll on him. They’d stopped by to ask whether he could rest for a while.

Naturally, I’d let him rest in one of the guest rooms.

Blood was seeping through his bandages, so I’d replaced them with fresh ones. While I was at it, I’d obtained permission from his companions to apply some of my ointment.

When you put it like that, allowing an ordinary civilian to smear homemade medicine on an injured knight sounded incredibly careless. However, the ointment I’d prepared at the time had a powerful medicinal herb as its main ingredient, so it certainly seemed as though it ought to be effective.

Why did I say it merely seemed effective? Because I’d only ever used it on a human once before.

Nevertheless, when I applied a little to the injured man, who’d been suffering from intense pain, his anguished expression visibly relaxed. His companions had therefore asked me to apply more, saying they had nothing to lose by trying.

The fact that their party included a magic knight capable of using appraisal magic had probably played a significant role in their decision.

He’d said, “I’m not a professional appraiser, so I can’t be certain, but at the very least, it isn’t poisonous.” They’d also told me they intended to take the injured man to a doctor as soon as they descended the mountain, so I’d agreed to apply the ointment.

…But if the black-haired man and his companion, who were fellow knights of the men stationed at the fortress, had come here to discuss the matter…

The blood drained from my face.

Had the ointment made the knight’s injury worse?

Terrified that I’d done something unforgivable, I cautiously asked the black-haired man,

“Did something happen to that knight?”

“Yes…”

The black-haired man slowly nodded before continuing.

“To put it simply, something extraordinary happened.”