The air in Elderwood hummed with restless energy ever since the cooking competition's finale. Noura stood in the heart of Noura's Kitchen, her forearms dusted with flour and spice, the rhythmic thock-thock-thock of her knife against the cutting board keeping time with her racing thoughts. The techniques she'd witnessed still burned bright in her memory: the dragonfire sear of Ember Isles chefs that left meats smoky yet succulent, the triple-fermentation process of Highland brewmasters that could make roots taste like aged wine, the flavor architecture of Capital City patissiers who built desserts like palaces for the palate.
She hadn't claimed the championship's golden skillet, but the real prize pulsed in her veins—a hunger to create something unprecedented.
"Not just bold," she corrected herself, flipping through grease-stained pages of her notebook with turmeric-tipped fingers. "Volcanic but comforting. Like stormy seas in a grandmother's soup bowl."
Her gaze snagged on a marginal note scrawled in her grandmother's shaky handwriting:
"Zanthera oil (3 drops MAX!) + powdered ginsara root = FIREBIRD SAUCE? WARNING: Combustible euphoria!"
The old woman had underlined "combustible" three times, the final stroke tearing through the paper.
Noura's grin turned wicked as she reached for her fireproof apron. Perfect indeed.
***
That afternoon, Noura cleared the main prep table. She laid out a fresh supply of ingredients: diced root-tusk meat (a local tender game meat), freshly pressed coconut milk, sweet charma onions, and her newest treasures—zanthera oil, fiery red and aromatic like torchlight, and ginsara root, a knotted, deep-orange herb that induced warmth and mild euphoria when consumed.
But something was still missing.
She stepped outside, squinting toward the nearby forest line where the village herbologist once mentioned a wild-growing plant: acairis. It was pungent, umami-rich, almost like fermented shrimp paste from her old world. After a brief foraging trip and a chat with the herbologist, she returned triumphant.
Back in the kitchen, she moved quickly—sautéing onions until golden, adding diced meat, a splash of zanthera oil, and finally, the acairis paste. The smell was wild, savory, and mouthwatering.
Then came the ginsara.
The moment the grated root hit the bubbling mixture, a burst of steam whooshed out in a fiery puff. Noura yelped and ducked. A crackle lit the pot for a brief second—harmless, but enough to singe the ends of her bangs.
When the smoke cleared, she peeked in.
The curry had turned a deep crimson, with streaks of orange oil glistening on the surface. It smelled like spice, heat, and possibility.
She grinned. "Red Flame Curry."
***
The Recipe: Red Flame Curry
(Adapted to local isekai ingredients — but true to the spirit of Indonesian gulai and rendang)
Ingredients:
500g root-tusk meat (or any tender red meat), diced
2 tbsp zanthera oil (or chili-infused oil substitute)
1 acairis bulb (or 2 tsp shrimp paste), mashed into a paste
1 small ginsara root (or substitute with ginger-galangal mix), grated
2 sweet charma onions, sliced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp ground sunseeds (similar to coriander)
1 stick karilea bark (cinnamon-like)
1 cup thick coconut milk
1 tbsp sun-dried red pepper flakesSalt to taste
Optional: chopped leafmint for garnish
Instructions:
Heat zanthera oil in a thick-bottomed pot. Add onions and sauté until translucent and golden. Add garlic, acairis paste, sunseed powder, and karilea bark. Stir until fragrant.
Toss in the diced meat and sear until browned.Stir in the grated ginsara root—watch for the reaction! It may flare.Add red pepper flakes, then pour in coconut milk. Simmer for 30–40 minutes until meat is tender and sauce thickens to a bold, red hue.
Adjust salt. Garnish with leafmint if desired. Serve hot with warm rice or flatbread.
***
Three days later, Noura placed a hand-drawn sign on the wooden stand outside the eatery.
🔥 Menu Special: RED FLAME CURRY (3 days only!) 🔥
Spicy. Bold. Not for the faint of heart.
It was mid-morning when the first villagers wandered in. Curiosity drew them more than hunger. Some chuckled at the drama of the sign. Others were hesitant.
But then Marwin the blacksmith tried it.
His face turned bright red. He coughed. Then he stood and shouted across the dining space, "By the flame gods, this is HOT! And I LOVE IT!"
That was the spark.
By lunchtime, a line had formed outside. Noura moved like a storm in her kitchen, balancing pans and ladles with the precision of a seasoned dancer. The red curry simmered and bubbled as plates were sent out one after another.
Some customers cried. Others laughed through the heat. A few came back for seconds, cheeks flushed and satisfied.
She added a small bowl of pickled forest radish to cut through the richness, and slices of pan-toasted bread for those who couldn't handle the spice with just rice.
The eatery buzzed with excitement. People talked, argued playfully over spice levels, dared each other to finish full portions.
***
By the second day, travelers from two nearby villages showed up. One merchant who had tasted it the night before returned with a friend from the river city of Irhadan.
"She makes the curry that kicks you in the chest and hugs you after," the man said with a wink.
A wandering bard even composed a ridiculous verse:
"Red flame roars in the humble pan,
One bite, and I forget I'm a man!
From north to south, the tongues all sing,
Of curry bold—the fire queen's wing!"
Noura laughed so hard she nearly dropped a pot.
Even Varek passed by the front of the eatery. He didn't come in, of course. He just stood outside for a long time, arms crossed, expression unreadable, before walking away.
***
That night, after the rush had died down, Noura stepped outside with a cup of warm jasmine bark tea. She sat on the edge of the porch, feet bare, the stars bright above Elderwood.
Her shoulders ached. Her fingers were stained yellow and red. There was a smear of curry near her cheek.
And yet… she felt alive.
The quiet evening was broken only by the distant laughter of villagers still talking about her dish.
She thought back to Jakarta, to her tiny apartment, to the food stall near the train station that sold rendang rice packs wrapped in banana leaves. To the days when she dreamed of having just one person taste her food and remember it forever.
Now here she was—on a different world, yes, but making memories in flavors, one plate at a time.
***
The first light of dawn gilded the cobblestones as Noura unlatched the wooden shutters of her eatery. She expected the usual crowd of farmers and lumberjacks, but her breath caught when she saw the line snaking down the lane—a tapestry of unfamiliar faces woven between her regulars.
A silver-haired woman in scaled armor shifted impatiently, the hilt of her sword tapping against a ceramic spice jar tied to her belt. Behind her, a merchant's apprentice clutched a ledger, his ink-stained fingers trembling with anticipation. Near the back, three hooded figures whispered over a map dotted with X's that suspiciously resembled legendary spice groves.
The scent of sizzling firebird sauce curled through the air as Noura tied on her apron. Someone in the crowd inhaled sharply—a sound she'd never heard before, the gasp of someone tasting memory and magic in a single breath.
Her hands stilled on the knot.
This wasn't just hunger she was feeding anymore.
Some came for the thrill of flavors that danced on the edge of danger. Others sought the alchemy that turned simple ingredients into edible spells. But as she watched a grizzled traveler's eyes widen at his first bite, the truth crystallized:
She wasn't just serving meals.
She was building a beacon.
The clatter of chopsticks and murmured praises swelled into a new kind of silence—the quiet before a culinary revolution. Noura caught Lira's eye across the counter and saw her own realization mirrored there:
The world had begun to notice.
READ MORE CHAPTER ON PATREON: https://www.patreon.com/collection/1469860