Chapter 13: Soft bread(1).

“““Thank you for the meal!”””

We settled into a leisurely routine.

For example, in the mornings, I’d wake up, eat breakfast, and go shopping. If I had extra time, I’d read. In the afternoons, I’d have lunch, then work on alchemy using Grandfather’s books as reference. As the sun dipped, we’d eat dinner, spend time on our own, and go to bed.

It was a truly peaceful life.

“Healing leaves, ethanol, and crushed sunflower seeds… Formulate!”

Facing the beaker with the ingredients, I poured the necessary magic from both palms. The contents melded, transformed, and became a potion. Sparkling brightly, it was a High Heal Potion, crafted with potent magic.

“Well, that’s all for potion-making.”

I’d left most potions at the Bloom ducal house, so I had none for myself or the Cait Siths in case of emergencies. Thus, I’d been making them daily, but that task was now mostly complete.

“Now, what to do… Oh, right, I’m dissatisfied with the food.”

Meals were a daily highlight, but I had a gripe: bread.

In this world, bakers sell bread baked in their home ovens at the market, and customers buy it.

“…It’s so hard.”

How to put it? Like German bread, maybe? Just really tough.

“…Maybe I’ll make my own bread.”

I’d made homemade yeast bread in my past life. Being a cooking enthusiast, I was quite particular.

Bread needs fermentation. Could I use Farm Utopia’s fruits to make yeast for soft bread?

“Yes, let’s try. Farm Utopia’s eternal spring has everything, but what should I use?”

I crossed my arms, pondering.

“…Grape yeast is the classic choice.”

Drawing on past-life knowledge, I clapped my hands. I’d bought flour at the market, and there was honey. I had the ingredients.

Basket in hand, I headed to the Farm Utopia.

“Huh? Need something from the Farm Utopia?”

Abel pattered over.

“Yes, I want to make yeast.”

“Yeast? What’s that?”

“It’s something to make bread soft.”

“…?”

He tilted his head for a moment, then widened his round eyes in shock.

“Bread can be soft? Isn’t it always hard?”

“Yup, so I’m going to make soft bread.”

His astonished gaze turned to admiration.

“Soft bread? That’s amazing! Is it fluffy? Moist?”

“Both.”

At my answer, Abel fell on his bottom in surprise, then sprang up, brushing off his tail.

“Wow! That’s incredible!”

“So, I need grapes for it.”

“The grapevines are this way!”

Seeming excited, Abel led the way. He guided me to lush vines heavy with Delaware-like grapes.

“Can these help?”

“Yes, they’re perfect. They’ll definitely do the job.”

I petted Abel’s head as I answered.

“Here, scissors for cutting grapes.”

Abel handed them to me.

“Thank you.”

I snipped the grapes, placed them in the basket, returned the scissors to Abel with thanks, and headed back to the mansion.

I went straight to the kitchen.

I prepared a lidded jar and a pot.

I put water and the jar in the pot, heating it to sterilize.

Meanwhile, I washed the grapes and drained them.

In the sterilized jar, I added grapes, purified water, and honey, sealing it tightly. From the next day, I’d shake the jar once or twice daily, then slightly loosen the lid. Then, I’d wait. By the third day, bubbles would form around the grapes, and opening the lid would make a “pssh” sound.

After five or six days, it’s ready. Taste it to check fermentation. A slight bitterness means it’s done; just sweetness means it’s not ready.

In my case, the grape yeast was ready in five days.

Once done, I shook the jar well, strained the liquid into another sterilized jar through a tea strainer. This liquid was the base for the grape yeast starter. The white sediment at the bottom was the yeast.

Next, I made the yeast starter.

In a sterilized, heat-resistant, sealable jar, I mixed domestic flour and the grape yeast liquid with a clean, long spoon. I left it in a warm place for about a day until it doubled in size.

Then, I added more grape yeast liquid and flour to the first starter jar, mixing and letting it double in a warm place for half a day.

For the second starter, I added grape yeast liquid and domestic flour, mixed, and let it double in a warm place for about two koku—roughly two hours in my past life.

The final starter, tightly sealed, could be stored in the Cold Storage for about a week.

Making the starter wasn’t a one-day job.

—Since I’m at it, why not make lunch a savory bread party!