Chapter 19:
Tiramisu (2)
“The name of this dish is… Tiramisu.”
“What? Tira… misu…?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“A strange name. What does it mean?”
“In a far-off Western land called Italy, it means ‘lift me up’ or ‘make me happy’ in their language.”
Yeonsangun burst into hearty laughter, amused by Ji-yeong’s response.
“Hahaha! True to its name, indeed. Soft, sweet, and slightly bitter—it’s a flavor that lifts the spirits. But what is this unique taste? I’ve never experienced it before…”
“It’s made from roasted barley, ground into powder.”
“Roasted… barley…?”
Yeonsangun looked at Ji-yeong with an expression of surprise, as if he’d heard something unexpected.
In truth, this was the result of Ji-yeong’s quick thinking in a desperate situation.
To create Tiramisu, a dish meant to please the king, she needed ingredients that were simply unavailable in Joseon at the time.
The first hurdle was mascarpone cheese.
“Luckily, the royal kitchen had milk used for tarakjuk.”
With that, she could makeshift something close enough.
Mascarpone is a fresh cheese that doesn’t require fermentation or aging.
By gently heating milk in a double boiler, adding vinegar to separate the curds, and straining it through cloth until it reached a thick, creamy consistency, she could make it relatively easily.
“It’d be better if I could let it sit in a refrigerator overnight for the proper texture, but freshly made isn’t bad either.”
Even with mascarpone secured, there was still one critical ingredient missing for Tiramisu.
Something unimaginable in Joseon at the time: coffee.
“Originally, Tiramisu is made by soaking savoiardi—Italian finger cakes—in coffee, then layering mascarpone cheese on top. The coffee’s flavor and caffeine provide the uplifting effect.”
The reason Tiramisu was once rumored in Italy to be an aphrodisiac, known for its mood-lifting qualities, was due to its combination of sweet sugar and a hefty dose of coffee.
But coffee beans wouldn’t arrive in Joseon for centuries.
In this pinch, Ji-yeong recalled a historical anecdote.
During World War II, when coffee was scarce in Italy, people found a way to replicate its flavor.
“They roasted barley like coffee beans and brewed it.”
This gave rise to “caffè d’orzo,” a barley coffee still enjoyed in Italy today as a decaffeinated alternative, mimicking coffee’s aroma despite lacking caffeine.
To add a caffeine kick, Ji-yeong turned to another ingredient.
Jakseolcha, a tribute tea from Hadong, named “sparrow’s tongue” for its delicate leaves.
“Jakseolcha in this era is a semi-fermented tea, so its caffeine content isn’t low. Paired with Tiramisu, it can provide the same stimulating effect.”
So, Ji-yeong soaked the cake baked in the hearth with caffè d’orzo, layered it with mascarpone cheese, and dusted it with finely ground roasted barley.
Served with a strong brew of jakseolcha, it was no surprise that the king’s mood was noticeably lifted.
“In that country, they roast barley, grind it, and brew it like tea. I adapted it for this dish.”
“Ho, this is all new to me. Have you been to that land?”
Yeonsangun gazed at Ji-yeong with the curious eyes of a young boy, brimming with intrigue.
His blatant stare was unnerving, but she had to respond.
“Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”
“What is it like there? Is the scenery beautiful? Are the women lovely?”
“…It was a place filled with beautiful songs, paintings, and people dressed in finery.”
Yeonsangun leaned closer, his face now inches from Ji-yeong’s.
“What else is remarkable there? Tell me more about that land. What is the music like? The food?”
Ji-yeong couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.
It was like facing a cruel, ferocious, yet beautiful beast sniffing its prey.
Thump, thump, thump…
Her heart pounded relentlessly.
At that moment, Jang Nok-su interjected with a coy, melodic voice.
“Your Majesty, you’ve finished your meal, so the tray should be cleared. It’s not proper to linger over an empty table.”
Nok-su tugged at Yeonsangun’s arm with her characteristic charm, but her face betrayed a forced smile, barely concealing her rising displeasure.
And for good reason.
The king’s foul mood, which even her soothing hadn’t fully eased, had melted away with a single bite of this bizarre Western rice cake.
Worse, his attention was shifting not just to the dish but to the woman who made it.
A strange, twisted emotion began to simmer within Nok-su’s heart.
She wasn’t one to quietly swallow such feelings.
Her cunning nature, which had carried her from the depths of the pleasure quarters to this position, wouldn’t allow it.
Perhaps it was then that a spark of an idea flashed through her mind.
“Your Majesty, eating this dish makes my heart ache. I can’t help but think of Her Majesty the Queen…”
Yeonsangun, who had been staring intently at Ji-yeong, turned his head as if snapping out of a trance.
“…The Queen, you say?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. She’s with child, yet I’ve heard she’s lost her appetite. If she could taste such a delicacy, surely it would restore her appetite…”
A complex, fleeting expression crossed Yeonsangun’s face.
The Queen, Lady Shin of the Geochang Shin clan, his legitimate consort.
Her existence was both a primal source of guilt and a sore spot for Yeonsangun.
“I will protect you, no matter what.”
At the age of twelve, during the ceremony to appoint her as his consort, the young Yeonsangun had said those words to her, his peer.
A royal marriage was merely a union of noble families.
There was no room for emotion from the start.
Yet, around that time, complex feelings for Lady Shin had undeniably taken root in Yeonsangun’s heart.
Fifteen years later, amidst his debaucherous lifestyle, the Queen remained a lingering scar in his heart.
The more erratic his behavior became, the more refined and virtuous the Queen appeared.
That contrast may have only deepened his discomfort.
Compounding his unease was the recent news that the Queen, already frail and prone to illness, was pregnant and nearing delivery.
Hearing that she had been suffering from severe morning sickness only added to his concerns.
“To taste something so sweet and rare… How delighted Her Majesty the Queen would be. I can’t help but feel for her…”
Nok-su, as if genuinely concerned for the Queen, dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, feigning tears.
Though Ji-yeong saw through the shallow act, Yeonsangun, astonishingly, seemed genuinely moved.
“…How compassionate of you.”
Embracing Nok-su’s shoulders, the young tyrant issued a firm command.
“Royal Chef, listen. Prepare the same dish I just ate and serve it to the Queen’s palace. Then, confirm with your own eyes that she has eaten it and report back to me.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.”
Ji-yeong bowed as she’d been taught and backed out of the chamber.
And as she did, Jang Nok-su, nestled in Yeonsangun’s arms, watched her with a peculiar glint in her eyes.
…
“Phew…”
Having barely escaped Chwihongwon’s chambers, Ji-yeong let out a long sigh.
Her body trembled strangely.
Was it relief at surviving by pleasing the king’s palate?
Or something else entirely?
“No time for useless thoughts.”
Ji-yeong shook her head to clear her mind.
Her priority was to prepare Tiramisu for the Queen’s palace as the king had ordered.
Upon returning to the royal kitchen, the chefs and servants, who had been anxiously waiting, let out sighs of relief and began murmuring.
Ji-yeong’s safe return on her own two feet meant the meal had been a success.
“I thought I was attending my own funeral, my heart was pounding so much,” Chef Jeon said dramatically, but Ji-yeong’s expression showed she wasn’t done yet.
“We’ve put out the immediate fire, but… His Majesty ordered the same dish to be served to the Queen’s palace.”
“What? Really? To prepare the Queen’s meal from here?”
Another wave of murmurs rippled through the royal kitchen.
The palace had multiple kitchens.
By protocol, the Queen’s meals were prepared separately in the Queen’s palace kitchen.
Especially during her pregnancy, this separation was even stricter.
For Ji-yeong to prepare the Queen’s meal was not only against protocol but also inappropriate.
Yet, defying the king’s command was unthinkable.
“Don’t worry, just prepare it as before. If it satisfied His Majesty’s discerning palate, what’s there to fear? Besides, the Queen is known for her gentle nature, so there shouldn’t be any issues,” Chef Jeon said, calming the staff as they began gathering ingredients again.
“I’ve never met Her Majesty the Queen… Is she unwell or something?” Jang-geum, newly a palace maid, asked innocently, prompting the other maids to cluck their tongues.
“Tch, tch… What are you saying? Her Majesty is with child, so it’s palace protocol to limit contact with strangers.”
“And you must never speak to the people of Gyotaejeon without permission. If Lady Sukyong Jang finds out, well… ugh, I don’t even want to think about it.”
The maid shuddered as if the thought alone was horrifying.
Hearing this, Ji-yeong’s mind flashed back to the events at the market earlier that day.
The man in the navy-blue robe who claimed to be from the Naegeumwi.
And the small scroll he had slipped into her hand.
“He said it was a message from the Queen.”
Piecing together the situation, a chill suddenly ran down Ji-yeong’s spine.
The single line of vernacular script she had read in the market, which she hadn’t understood at the time, now made sense.
“Chef Jeon! It’s urgent. There’s an ingredient we absolutely need to get right now.”
“At this hour, you need an ingredient urgently?”
To Chef Jeon’s bewildered question, Ji-yeong nodded with a desperate look in her eyes.
“Without it… not only me, but the entire royal kitchen might face execution.”
…
At the same moment, in a building behind the king’s quarters.
Gyotaejeon, the Queen’s palace.
In the deepest chamber of the palace, a young woman in white sat calmly embroidering silk.
She appeared to be in her late twenties.
Her fair, pristine face was as delicate and elegant as a porcelain doll.
Yet, it was a face that revealed little of her inner thoughts.
Perhaps it was the burden of her role as the nation’s mother, requiring her to never show her emotions, no matter the storms she faced.
The daughter of the prestigious Geochang Shin clan, child of former Chief State Councillor Shin Seung-seon.
And Yeonsangun’s legitimate consort, Queen Shin.
“Is anyone outside?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
As she spoke absently while embroidering red thread onto white silk, a jimilsanggung waiting outside promptly responded.
Without lifting her eyes from her needlework, the Queen continued calmly.
“Light a fire in the courtyard. I have a feeling a guest will arrive soon.”
