Chapter 133: Ingredient Shopping for French Onion Soup
They returned through the morning crowds—vendors calling out their wares, the smell of breakfast cooking mixed with perfume and magic, and overhead, enchanted carts flying past carrying deliveries to the upper districts.
Marron walked with purpose now, her mother’s notebook tucked under one arm, the cream-colored bowl Millie had insisted she borrow carefully wrapped in cloth and held against her chest.
"You’re planning something," Mokko observed.
"I’m always planning something."
"No, I mean you have that look. The one you get right before you do something ambitious and slightly terrifying."
Marron glanced at him. "Is it that obvious?"
"You’re practically vibrating."
She laughed despite herself. "I need to make the soup. The real version, start to finish, with proper presentation. I need to practice it until I can do it in my sleep."
"That’s four hours of cooking," Mokko pointed out.
"I know."
"Plus plating time, adjustments, probably multiple attempts to get the presentation right—"
"I know.
""—which means you’ll be cooking for most of the day."
"Mokko." Marron stopped walking and turned to face him. "I have two days before the retest. Two days to prove that I deserve to be here. I’m not going to waste them sleeping or sightseeing or worrying about whether I’m working too hard."
His expression softened behind his glasses. "I’m not saying don’t work hard. I’m saying... pace yourself. You survived a mimic dungeon. You fed a furnace and made monsters choose soup over violence. You don’t have to prove anything to me or Lucy. We already know what you’re capable of."
Something tight loosened in Marron’s chest. "Thanks," she said quietly. "But I need to prove it to myself too."
"Fair enough." Mokko adjusted his glasses and grinned. "Then let’s go get those ingredients."
The Lumerian Ingredient Market was located in the mid-ring of the city, somewhere between the pristine upper districts and the warm chaos of the street market below. It occupied a large covered plaza, its roof enchanted to let in natural light while keeping out rain.
The market was organized with almost military precision. Each section was clearly marked: Produce, Proteins, Dairy, Grains, Spices, Specialty Items. Even the aisles were color-coded, and helpful directory signs floated at every intersection.
It was nothing like the ramshackle markets Marron was used to.
"This place is intimidating," Mokko muttered.
"It’s just organized," Marron said, though she agreed with him. There was something cold about all this efficiency. Beautiful, yes, but cold.
She started with produce.
The onion vendor was a middle-aged human woman with flour-dusted hands and a no-nonsense expression. Her stall was immaculate—onions arranged by size and type, each variety labeled with a small placard describing its flavor profile and best uses.
"Help you?" the vendor asked.
"I need onions for French onion soup. Six of them, large, sweet."
The woman’s expression shifted—not quite a smile, but something warmer than before. "Ah. A classic. You want the Gilded Yellows, then. They caramelize beautifully, very high sugar content." She selected six perfect specimens, each one firm and heavy in the hand. "Twelve gold for all six."
Marron didn’t flinch at the price. In Lumeria, quality cost. "Deal."
Next, the bakery section.
The bread vendor was a young dwarf with braided beard and enthusiastic energy. "What can I get you?"
"I need bread for soup. Something rustic, good texture, can hold up to broth without getting soggy."
"Country sourdough," he said immediately. "Thick crust, open crumb, perfect for soaking. I baked it this morning." He pulled out a round loaf, golden-brown and gorgeous. The crust crackled when he pressed it. "Three gold."
"Sold."
The cheese vendor was next—an elderly elf with sharp eyes and sharper opinions.
"Gruyere," Marron said. "Real Gruyere, not whatever passes for it in most places."
The elf’s expression thawed slightly. "Finally, someone who knows quality. I have two types: the young, which melts smoothly but lacks depth, and the aged, which has more complexity but can be stringy if you’re not careful."
"Aged," Marron said without hesitation. "I’ll be careful."
"Good answer." The elf cut a generous wedge and wrapped it in waxed paper. "Eight gold."
Finally, the wine and herb section.
The wine vendor was happy to recommend a dry white for deglazing—"Nothing too expensive, you’re cooking with it, not drinking it"—and the herb vendor insisted she take two bunches of fresh thyme, one for cooking and one for garnish.
Total damage: Twenty-three gold.
Marron counted out the coins without regret. This was an investment. In herself, in her craft, in proving that she could do this.
+
Back at the inn’s kitchen, Marron laid out her ingredients with the same care Millie had shown with her moon cakes. Everything in its place. Everything ready.
She tied her hair back, rolled up her sleeves, and took a breath.
"Okay," she said to no one in particular. "Let’s do this right."
Step one: Slice the onions.
She peeled each one carefully, then sliced them thin—not too thin, or they’d disintegrate during the long cooking process, but thin enough to caramelize evenly. Her enchanted knife hummed softly, responding to her intent, making the work quick and precise.
Six onions became a mountain of translucent half-moons.
Step two: Caramelize.
This was the heart of the soup. The part that couldn’t be rushed.
She melted butter in her largest pan—a good-sized sauté pan with high sides. When it foamed, she added all the onions at once. They hissed and steamed, filling the kitchen with that sharp, sweet smell.
"Low heat," she murmured, adjusting the rune. "Patience."
The onions needed to cook slowly, breaking down their sugars naturally, turning from sharp and pungent to sweet and complex. It would take at least two hours, maybe more. She’d need to stir them every ten minutes or so, making sure they didn’t stick or burn, watching them transform from white to gold to deep amber.
She set a timer.
While the onions cooked, she prepared the other components.
Step three: Make the stock.
She had her preserved broth base—a concentrated mixture she’d made weeks ago and kept in her cart’s coldbox. It was good quality, made from beef bones and vegetables roasted until dark and rich. She rehydrated it with hot water, added dried thyme and a bay leaf, let it simmer gently on the back burner.
The kitchen began to smell incredible.