A trend was circulating among nobles who were a bit distant from Fabio, though calling it a trend was somewhat generous—it was more like backbiting.
"The Baron of Rothschild, that man is as vulgar as they come."
Since the opening of Rothschild Restaurant, Fabio had become a popular subject of noble conversation, akin to “Hey, isn’t that Taker player insane?” but, of course, in a tone drenched in disdain and jealousy.
“Baron Ajaccio, you’re absolutely right. The young man reached adulthood less than three years ago, earned himself a baron title with some mediocre talent, and now he’s vulgar beyond measure.”
Baron Ajaccio aimed his flattery at the highest-ranking member of this gathering, Viscount Franco.
“You called him vulgar even back when he was merely a sub-baron, sir. His family started as merchants, after all, and he seems to think like one. He wants commoners to taste the delicacies we reserve for noble banquets—what a vulgar notion. He’s a bundle of greed, completely obsessed with money.”
The words were venomous, laced with meaning that was practically a curse. To nobles, merchants were, at best, a necessary evil, akin to the unsavory figures in the slums’ information guilds. The implication that Fabio, a baron, could be classed with such people was a blow that would make Fabio throw down the proverbial white glove for a duel if he had heard.
Viscount Franco gently rebuked Ajaccio.
“Ahem, young people these days are far too hot-headed. Try to calm yourself.”
“Forgive me, Viscount. But as a noble, I find it unbearable to watch Rothschild’s vulgar antics.”
They all knew why he was truly upset. Anyone could rise to the sub-baron level with enough talent, but advancing to a baron was different; it required extraordinary military service. And yet, Rothschild had ascended to that rank in just three short years.
“If he’s risen so easily, why am I still stuck here?”
Such thoughts simmered within them. Of course, nobles who prized honor and decorum would never voice such petty desires aloud.
“However, I must say, that restaurant the Rothschild opened bothers me deeply. Allowing the common rabble to eat what we serve at our banquets has filled the entire empire with decadence. Deus teaches us restraint.”
Ironically, the nobles themselves were draped in rare jewels and fine silks, yet they viewed their indulgences as noble acts, upholding their family honor. In their eyes, commoner luxuries were vulgar, while noble extravagance was virtuous. Thus, they felt no guilt in disparaging Fabio.
Another noble, standing near Baron Ajaccio, cautiously spoke up.
“If only the commoners had truly appreciated our refined cuisine, perhaps Baron Ajaccio wouldn’t be so upset. But they are saying absurd things like, ‘The food doesn’t taste good.’”
“Food at banquets isn’t for taste; it’s to display the family’s prestige.”
“They speak without understanding a thing,” another chimed in. “It’s all because that Rothschild fool has no idea what he’s doing.”
As a rule, people’s tastes are similar across eras and places. Unless it’s a dish with a particularly strong “traditional” flavor, what tastes good to one person often tastes good to another. Truthfully, the lavish banquet dishes, even for the nobles accustomed to them, were bland. So no one was touching on the issue of taste.
Viscount Franco offered a bitter solution.
“Whether or not the commoners look down on us is none of our concern.”
Though his words sounded indifferent, the issue gnawed at him. Had the criticism been about appearance or presentation, he could’ve ignored it. But when nobles themselves could agree that the food was tasteless, it was like salt rubbed into a wound.
“However, we cannot allow them to believe they’re on par with us.”
This noble statement thinly masked his real concern: if they were criticized for tastelessness, and other aspects were even marginally matched, it could tarnish their honor and dignity.
“Let’s show them the true grandeur of nobility. Let’s make the banquets even more splendid, and make the food beautiful enough that they couldn’t dream of matching it.”
There was no other way to prevent the commoners from believing they understood the nobility.
“Let’s hold the banquet outside, so they can see what it truly means to be noble.”
After all, luxury exists to flaunt what others cannot have. When it comes to luxury, no matter how much better or cheaper a product may be, it cannot compete with a “rare” item. Wild matsutake mushrooms, compared to common shiitakes that can be grown anywhere, are a prime example. Shiitakes might have more aroma and flavor, but they’re cultivated, making the matsutake superior as a luxury.
“Sebastian, what were you saying earlier?”
Sebastian answered evenly, “The clergy are subtly spreading word that Rothschild Restaurant encourages sinful indulgence. This won’t directly harm your political standing, but...”
While it might not be a political blow, I’d have to jump through hoops to prove my piety. Bribes to gain access to “prayer rooms” (complete with female company and guards keeping onlookers away), or perhaps an act of contrition, publicly pledging never to repeat the offense, and likely a substantial “penance” in donations.
If I’d encouraged people to rack up debt, I’d deserve prison, but fining me over luxury food sold at a restaurant? Ridiculous.
“Should I start selling indulgences?”
With the rampant corruption these days, introducing an indulgence system might just be amusing. Besides, with my background in Western history, I know the essence of doctrines that could oppose the Deus Church.
The wisdom of the British Empire may soon have to come into play, though I’m not strong enough yet to make that move.
“I heard the Deus Church is short on funds these days. They’re likely eager to milk some from me.”
Other nobles would struggle to recover after a squeeze like that, but for them, I was like lettuce—constantly sprouting up anew. And if they trampled on me, Duke Sforza would surely pay a hefty donation on my behalf.
“No matter. My intention was never to spread the overly opulent food that nobles eat.”
“How will you counteract it?”
If indulgent food for both nobles and commoners was the problem, then simplifying yet enhancing the luxury would be the answer.
“We’ll create food that’s incredibly delicious yet modestly luxurious. Also, find truffle hunters in regions where truffles are cultivated and secure land to raise geese.”
I may not be a culinary expert, but the trend I’m about to launch will lean heavily toward French cuisine. I’ll monopolize fine ingredients that aren’t quite popular yet—like truffles—and make a fortune.
“If we’re changing trends, let’s show the Archbishop of Florence this: Which is closer to God’s will—a dish smothered in spices or one that honors the natural flavor of God’s creation?”
Since “moderation” is a virtue according to the Deus scriptures, the natural flavor should be more in line with divine intent.
“If a trend isn’t profitable, just change the trend.”
Updat𝒆d fr𝒐m freewebnσvel.cøm.
It was time to spread the nouvelle cuisine across the empire. Once the concept was finalized, I sought an audience with the emperor under the pretext of presenting a “remedy.”