Noura wiped the sweat from her brow and stared at the battered kitchen she had found the day before. The hearth was cracked, the counters warped with age, and most of the utensils had long rusted into uselessness. But to her, it was a treasure.
She spent the morning cleaning it with vigor, scrubbing soot from the stone stove and salvaging what few pots and pans she could. Her arms ached, but her heart was light.
For the first time in years — or rather, for the first time in this new life — she had purpose.
By midday, word had spread through Elderwood that the mysterious newcomer had "claimed" the old Hawthorne kitchen. A few curious villagers trickled in, peeking shyly through the doorway.
Among them was a tall man in a deep green cloak, with silver hair braided down his back and a thick wooden cane in his hand. His sharp gray eyes studied her with a mix of caution and amusement.
"You must be the newcomer," he said, his voice rough like gravel but not unkind. "Name's Alder Hawthorne. Chief of Elderwood."
Noura wiped her hands on her apron and offered a small bow, recalling the customs she had observed.
"I'm Noura, sir. Thank you for allowing me to stay in your village."
Alder chuckled. "Didn't have much choice, did we? My daughter said you appeared half-dead by the river. Besides, Elderwood could use a bit of fresh spirit."
He leaned on his cane, surveying the barely usable kitchen.
"You plan to do something with this old place?"
Noura hesitated. Her mind raced — was she even allowed to just clean and claim it? But then she remembered: second chances were meant to be seized, not tiptoed around.
"I would like to cook," she said simply. "Open a small eatery. Share meals... if the village allows it."
Alder barked a laugh, startling the gathered villagers.
"An eatery? We haven't had a proper one since before my grandfather's time! Folk here make their own stew and bread. Don't have much coin to spare for fancy meals."
Noura's stomach twisted. Was she being foolish?
"But," Alder continued, a gleam in his eye, "if you can put a good meal on my table tonight, and my council agrees it's worth supporting, you can have the kitchen."
He tapped his cane on the dusty floor for emphasis.
"You'll need to make do with whatever you can find. No market, no fancy spices. Elderwood's bounty, and your own hands."
Noura smiled, a real smile blooming across her face.
"I accept."
The Challenge: Cook an Indonesian-inspired Meal with Isekai Ingredients
The afternoon was a whirlwind.
Noura foraged in the village gardens and the nearby forest edge with Rowan, Alder's teenage grandson, who had been assigned — half as a babysitter, half as a spy.
In her baskets she gathered:
Wild leafy greens that tasted faintly sour — perfect for a Sayur Asem.
Wild tubers, yams, and slender carrots.
Small birds that the villagers called "forest hens," scrawny but flavorful.
A grain similar to barley.
Sweet local honey.
A fruit that resembled a stubbier, more fibrous banana.
She worked quickly, instincts from years of longing and study finally coming alive.
The battered hearth crackled back to life. The old pans, cleaned and blessed with a bit of oil pressed from nuts, served her well enough.
First, she started the Sayur Asem Elderwood Style.
She boiled the wild greens with sliced root vegetables, adding crushed sour berries for acidity, seasoned only with salt and a few bruised forest herbs that smelled vaguely of basil and lemon.
The aroma that filled the kitchen was mouthwatering — bright, clean, comforting.
Next, she prepared Gorengan.
She mashed some tubers, sliced others thin, dipped them in a simple batter of grain flour and water, and fried them until golden in the shallow oil. The crackle and sizzle sounded like music.
For the main protein, she crafted Sate Ayam Hutan.
She marinated chunks of forest hen meat with honey, ground wild pepper, and a hint of crushed garlic shoots. Threading them onto sharpened twigs, she grilled them over hot coals, basting with more honey for a caramelized finish.
The smoky, sweet scent floated through the air, making even the skeptical villagers' mouths water.
As a staple, she cooked a Nasi Goreng Barli.
She boiled the barley until tender, then stir-fried it with scrambled eggs, chopped greens, and a pinch of salt. It wasn't rice, but it had the heart and soul of fried rice: warm, hearty, satisfying.
For dessert, she created Pisang Bakar Madu.
She sliced the stubby fruits, grilled them gently, and drizzled them with wild honey until they were glossy and caramelized.
Finally, she brewed a pot of Teh Daun Elderwood, the wild leaf tea, serving it with small sprigs of mint.
The Presentation
When dusk fell and the first stars pricked the sky, Alder returned with four other council members: stout, weathered men and women who clearly took no nonsense.
The villagers gathered outside the kitchen, craning their necks, their noses twitching at the unfamiliar scents.
Noura set out simple wooden platters, laid fresh linen cloths, and presented the meal with a deep bow.
"Please," she said in careful Elderwood tongue. "Eat."
The Tasting
The council members sampled cautiously at first.
Alder slurped a spoonful of Sayur Asem — and blinked in surprise at the tangy, refreshing broth.
Matron Lysa bit into a piece of Gorengan — crisp on the outside, soft within — and immediately reached for another.
Councilor Bram, the gruffest of them all, chewed on a skewer of Sate Ayam, the honey glaze sticking to his fingers, and grunted in approval.
The barley fried rice earned murmurs of amazement. None had thought to fry their humble grain this way.
And the grilled sweet fruit? Even the children outside begged for scraps.
By the end of the meal, the council sat back, bellies full, expressions stunned.
Alder wiped his mouth and chuckled.
"Girl," he said, "you've bewitched us."
He turned to the gathered villagers and raised his cane.
"This kitchen belongs to Noura now, by right of skill and heart."
A cheer rose from the small crowd. Rowan punched the air in excitement.
Noura bowed deeply, heart pounding, tears stinging her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I won't let you down."
Later That Night
As the villagers drifted home, Noura sat alone by the fading hearth, the day's events finally crashing down on her.
She clutched the old recipe book the god had gifted her — the one her grandmother once wrote in.
The first page fluttered open:
"A kitchen is not merely a room.It is a heart made visible."
Noura smiled.
In this strange world, with nothing but a battered stove, simple ingredients, and a dream long buried under years of exhaustion, she had found her new beginning.
Not as a corporate drone.
Not as a ghost.
But as a cook.
As Noura.
And tomorrow — tomorrow, she would cook again.
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