Fried rice - such a simple dish, and yet so deceptive.
At its core, only two ingredients mattered: rice and eggs.
Most people who claimed they could "cook" really just meant they could use a rice cooker and maybe, if they were confident, make a decent fried rice.
The steps were basic:
Heat oil.
Add eggs and scramble.
Add rice and salt, stir.
Serve.
Easy, right? That simplicity was a trap.
The lower limit produced charcoal-worthy disasters, edible only if you enjoyed bitterness. The upper limit? Absolute artistry and all hinged on one thing: fire control.
Click.
The burner flared to life. The iron wok clanged onto the flame, and oil flowed from the pot.
Lance didn't rush. The customer might be in a hurry, but good cooking couldn't be rushed. He let the oil heat gradually while cracking two eggs with deft flicks of his left hand crack! crack! - dropping them smoothly into a bowl.
With his right hand, he chopped a green onion in seconds.
He used to break more eggs than he could count trying to master that move and learned it mostly for style. Now it was just efficient.
With long chopsticks, he stirred the yolks and whites evenly until they gleamed golden-orange. Then he lifted the wok slightly, swirling it so the hot oil coated every inch of its surface.
When the oil shimmered, he poured the eggs in.
Sizzle!
The edges bubbled immediately. Without waiting for the set, he dumped cold rice straight into the center.
BOOM!
The flame leapt high, the air filled with the intoxicating scent of oil and egg. The heat flushed his face red, but Lance barely flinched.
He gripped the iron spatula and began to stir.
Clang! Clang!
Each motion struck rhythm like a performance. Rice and egg lifted and fell, shimmering under orange firelight. In that moment, he looked every bit the conductor of a blazing orchestra.
The soft egg threads clung to the rice, coating each grain with golden sheen. Steam rose like mist through a morning sun.
Minutes later, it was perfect.
He sprinkled chopped scallion at the end, tossing the spatula a few more times to release the aroma without burning the greens.
Ding!
"Egg Fried Rice – Completed."
"Difficulty: F."
"Completion: 77%."
"Suggestions: Not all grains coated evenly. Focus on timing and fire control."
"Conclusion: A dish worthy of serving guests, though you still lack refinement."
Lance read the floating text and sighed with a faint smile.
"Still not 80, huh? Harsh critic."
But he had to admit... not every grain was perfect.
Balanced between overcooked egg and clumped rice, that line was razor-thin.
As he thought about tweaking the timing for next time, he reached to crack another egg… then froze.
"Oh hell, the customer!"
Quickly plating the steaming rice, he dashed into the dining area.
"Sorry for the wait."
He set the dish before Shirou, still piping hot.
The student blinked in surprise. That was fast. So fast it couldn't be fresh… could it?
He lifted his cup of water, hesitant, eyes narrowing at the perfect glisten of eggs and rice.
But no, he recognized the color. The eggs were bright, the greens crisp. This was fresh.
"…Did you just make this?" he asked warily.
"Yup," Lance replied without a second thought.
Of course he had. He'd spent the entire night cooking fried rice. Half the kitchen was still filled with trial plates.
Then a thought struck him, and he snapped his fingers. "Wait!"
He hurried back into the kitchen and returned with another plate slightly cooler and duller in color.
"That one's from last night. This-" he gestured to the one in front of Shirou "is the fresh one."
Shirou stared, sweatdropping slightly. Then, chuckling softly, he lifted his spoon.
"That… boss, you've got it wrong. I wasn't doubting you or anything. I just thought you cooked faster than I expected, that's all."
Only someone like Shirou Emiya would apologize over something like that, and only someone like Lance, who had little experience with social interaction, let alone running a shop would react this seriously to it.
"I'll dig in now!"
After explaining, Shirou didn't bother with Lance's reaction. He was starving.
(Chapter End)