Cooking with Wild Game (LN)

Prologue

Translator: Skythewood

Editor: Deus Ex-machina

One night, I had a dream after a long time.

A dream when I slept really soundly, and dreamt about things I had long forgotten.

And when I woke up, I would have no memory about them.

When I occasionally remember the scenes in my dream, it would have already ended.

In my dream, I was still a child in elementary school.

Dad watched TV as he drank beer and cheered for his favourite baseball team.

Mother cut some sort of vegetable in the kitchen, probably onions.

Our family runs a restaurant, so this must be the off day that happens once a week. If not for this, it was impossible for our entire family to be around for dinner.

It was a family scene commonly seen in Showa period dramas.

I wasnt interested in baseball, and asked Dad during the commercials:

Dad, your culinary skill is better, but why is mother always the one cooking dinner when we are home?

Damn it, you

Dad leaned in close in a panic:

Why are you saying this all of a sudden? What if your mother hears this?

Thats why Im asking so softly Why?

You Asuta, do you dislike the meal cooked by your mother?

No, I like it.

The six years old me shook my head firmly.

I was a likeable child back then, even I myself thought so.

But I like the dishes prepared by Dad more, because your food is the most delicious.

A line that I would never say now.

Also because I have lost the person who I could compliment.

Well Because Im a professional chef My job is to cook delicious meals...

Dad had a troubled and complicated expression. He was just past 30 back then.

He was probably wondering if he should deal out judgement with his fists after hearing my answer. But after hearing a six years old give such an answer, he stayed his hand and admit his defeat.

By the way, you have been eating the food I cooked everyday, right? Dont you want to eat mothers home cooked meal once a week?

I didnt say I dont want to, Im just curious.

The match had started on the television.

But Dad was still facing me, with his arms crossed and troubled.

Your thinking is still wrong. When were home, mother should cook.

But why?

You ask me why Because Im a chef.

Dad said with a stern face:

The chefs job is to cook for customers, and cooking for a family is a mothers job.

Hmm?

I was just six and didnt fully understand the significance behind his words.

Since his words appeared in my dream in this way, that means it left an impression on me.

One year later, my mother passed away. I said in tears:I wish I can taste my mothers cooking a little more.