As I approach the beach, I throttle back and find a secluded spot to beach the sub. I climb out and heave the vessel further onto the sand. The submarine is surprisingly sturdy. After everything it’s been through, it only has a few minor dents. I head back inside and gather all my belongings.


    I cautiously make my way inland from the beach. The plants and animals I encounter aren’t aggressive, but absolutely nothing looks familiar. Most of the plants have enormous leaves, and some are laden with huge, dangling fruits.


    They look like they could feed a small army… if they''re edible. I eye them warily. One wrong bite and I could end up with a face full of exploding alien fruit. No thanks.


    The vegetation is lush and tropical, and the air is thick with humidity. I hear bird-like calls mixing with low roars echoing around me—some close by, others far off in the distance.


    I half expect a dinosaur to stroll by and offer me a cup of tea.


    Every so often, I take a deep breath, just to get a sense of my surroundings. Some areas smell foul, like animal droppings, while others have a pleasant, sweet scent. As I venture deeper into the jungle, a particularly interesting aroma catches my attention. It smells like a blend of spices—very familiar spices, the kind you’d find back on Earth. Cinnamon, cloves…is that cardamom?


    Someone’s cooking… actual, real food? The first sign of truly delectable food in this world! Maybe this isn’t such a trash isekai after all. My non-existent stomach rumbles in anticipation. I follow the tantalizing aroma, practically bursting through the jungle undergrowth.


    A small, unassuming hut nestled amongst the trees comes into view, a peculiar metallic contraption parked beside it. Wisps of white smoke curled lazily from its chimney. This could be interesting. Maybe I’ll finally get some decent food.


    I bounded up to the door and rapped sharply.


    “Hello?” I called out.


    A sudden cacophony of clattering ladles and clanging knives erupted from within.


    “Er...hello? Is anyone…about?” A rather stout man cautiously opened the door a crack, peering up at me with wide, slightly panicked eyes.


    “Now, hold on. Who are you, then? And… how’d you manage that?” The man’s voice trembled slightly as he clutched a knife tightly, his gaze fixed on the obvious trail I’d blazed through the jungle.


    “I’m Val. I walked…” I glanced back at my route, a hilariously mangled path of traps marking my passage.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Oh, wow… I was so focused on the smell I didn’t even register those…traps? Snares?


    “Sorry… about those…” I mumbled awkwardly.


    “Right. What’s the purpose of this, then?” The man asked, still visibly shaken.


    “I got a little lost in this jungle, and I caught the scent of your amazing cooking…” I inhaled deeply. “Though… it’s starting to smell a tad…burnt now.”


    “Ahh!” The stout man slammed the door shut and scurried back inside.


    After a flurry of frantic noises from within—including what sounded suspiciously like a pot hitting the floor—the man reappeared, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.


    “Lost, are we?” He studied me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, his eyes widening as he took in my appearance.


    “Yeah… hopelessly lost… perhaps you could spare a bite?” I peered past him into the hut. The aroma was still divine, even with the slightly burnt undertones. I had to taste it.


    The stout man lowered his knife slightly. “Just… stay put for a moment,” he said softly, before promptly slamming the door in my face again.


    I waited outside, gazing up at the sky. The sun hung high overhead. It was probably around noon. A rather ominous thundercloud seemed to be brewing closer to the beach where I’d started. Hopefully, it won''t rain before I get some of this amazing smelling… whatever it was.


    The salty-sweet air from the hut now carries the enticing aroma of perfectly balanced spices.


    My non-existent stomach does a phantom rumble. If I had a stomach, it’d be begging for mercy.


    The door creaks open again. “Come in… Looks like the heavens are about to open,” the stout man says, glancing nervously at the darkening sky outside.


    I step into the tiny, sparsely furnished hut. It’s incredibly simple, practically bare. The door closes behind me with a soft thud.


    The stout man bustles past. “Here, sit. Make yourself… as comfortable as you can,” he says, gesturing to a small table with two chairs.


    And there it is. On the table, the pot. The magnificent pot. A tantalizing blend of spices, meat, and vegetables, laced with a hint of something utterly unique, wafts from within. Some scents are familiar—cinnamon, cloves, cardamom—others decidedly not. It resembles a curry or beef bourguignon, but with ingredients that look nothing like Earth’s. Giant purple tubers and bright green, segmented vegetables bob in the rich, dark sauce.


    I carefully lower myself into a chair. The man, still looking a tad nervous, sets out plates and utensils. We sit facing each other. He scoops a generous portion of the stew onto my plate.


    This body doesn’t need food, but my non-existent stomach is practically begging for this.


    “Thank you!” I blurt, unable to contain myself, and eagerly plunge my fork into the plate, spearing a chunk of meat coated in the rich sauce.


    The moment the first bite hits my tongue, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. It tastes remarkably like home, like Earth. The taste, the smell, the texture—it’s an explosion of familiar sensations, all harmonizing beautifully as I chew and swallow. It’s even hot! I can actually feel the warmth in my mouth. Apparently, that’s the one part of me that retains some sense of temperature.


    After I’ve devoured the first few bites, the chubby man finally relaxes, a smile spreading across his face. “Goodness me, you look like you’ve missed a few meals!”