I’m Quitting Everything and Selling Cola Chapter 159

Chapter 159. Love and the Culinary Revolution (3)

Brigitte's brilliant, inspired instincts. The seasoned charisma of Chef Gabriel, who had once led the finest restaurant in the capital. To which was added the rich, battle-tested experience of Y&P Trading Company.

The Golden rmaid's renewal caught a favourable wind.

The direction of the renewal was clear. Not simple luxury and upmarket posturing, but a sweeping nu overhaul with ingredient costs and sourcing ticulously calculated.

The key was to preserve The Golden rmaid's identity as a seafood restaurant, while introducing bold variation into the main dishes.

"Seafood supply is inherently unstable. We need to spread the risk."

"Quite right! And I've noticed — Northern guests seem to feel that they've only had a 'proper al today!' once they've had so at!"

The calibre of the food mattered, of course — but in the end, the satisfaction of filling a guest's stomach could not be dismissed either. And so the Seasoned Ribs from Royal Kitchen and Brigitte's trump card, Duck Confit, were added to the main dish line-up.

The Seasoned Ribs were certainly a dish with universal appeal. But it was Brigitte's signature Duck Confit that was a true guarantee against failure.

Had it not earned lavish praise from the judges at the Royal Culinary Competition, achieving top marks?

Cooked at low temperature in oil for an extended period, the skin crisp and the flesh lting on the tongue — it was a perfect match for the Fine Dining aesthetic The Golden rmaid aspired to.

"The nu…… this should do well enough, shouldn't it?"

Once the direction of the nu was set —

"Then it is my turn to step forward."

Chef Gabriel stepped up. He might have fallen short of Brigitte in sheer ability. But once, he had been the Head Chef commanding the finest restaurant in Albion.

"Attention, everyone! The recipes have been decided. Bringing them to life perfectly on the plate — that is our responsibility!"

"Yes, Chef!"

Their back wages had been settled, and above all, the eyes of the staff who had witnessed Brigitte's abilities first-hand were alight with fresh motivation.

"That's not it! Brigitte taught you how to cook the at evenly!"

"Apologies, Chef!"

"The Risotto needs constant movent of the pan!"

"Yes, Chef!"

"You there! The Duck Confit skin — get it crispier with the torch! Brigitte said so herself! Like pudding on the inside, like a biscuit on the outside!"

Under Gabriel's command, spreading Brigitte's techniques throughout — the staff moved as one.

"Chef Gabriel! Next ti, I think adding a little more Thy to the olive oil would be better!"

"Did you hear that? More Thy!"

The two of them worked in perfect concert, contrary to any concern. Brigitte set the direction; Gabriel laid the road.

Jurgen, arms folded as he watched the scene, wore a satisfied smile.

Brigitte, with her genius instincts. Gabriel, with his solid command of the kitchen.

Two different talents shing together — the kitchen itself was a magnificent orchestra.

"Right! The opening is the day after tomorrow! Let's push our skills to the absolute limit by then!"

At Gabriel's rallying call, the entire kitchen answered with a resounding roar.

"Yes, Chef!"

It was the mont The Golden rmaid — half-withered as it had been — ca back to life in full vigour.

***

Late at night, after everyone had gone ho. Another key player of The Golden rmaid.

Marianne was wandering alone through the empty restaurant.

Under the contract, Marianne's responsibilities were extrely limited — but even so, The Golden rmaid was a Blanchard Count Family enterprise. Wouldn't it be better to breathe as much vitality into it as possible?

"Hmm, that chandelier needs to be repositioned. Far too predictable."

She surveyed the hall with arms folded. Nobles were fickle. Even the most lavish interior would begin to wear thin after two or three visits.

Fortunately, the Blanchard family's storeroom was piled high with luxury items collected by the previous generation. Most had originally been put up as collateral, but Y&P Trading Company had resolved that matter.

"A Tapestry on the wall, and the marble sculpture won at auction the other ti at the entrance……."

Marianne muttered to herself, shifting the chair arrangent this way and that. Dust flew and the hem of her dress grew dirty, but she paid it no mind. This was also a matter of her own pride.

"Huu, that'll do for now."

As Marianne straightened up, wiping the perspiration from her forehead, her gaze drifted, quite by chance, toward the kitchen.

"Oh?"

At a ti when everyone should have gone ho. A faint light was leaking through the gap in the kitchen door.

"Who is that? Brigitte? Or did Gabriel leave sothing behind?"

Curiosity piqued, Marianne quietly moved toward it. Through the slightly open gap in the door, she saw an unexpected figure.

It was Jurgen. Shirt sleeves rolled up, he was standing alone at the kitchen counter.

Before him were the dishes that would go out at the renewal opening, the day after tomorrow.

"Hmm… more than this……."

He was tasting the completed dishes, alternating between them and wetting his lips with the wine beside him.

The easy, teasing smile he usually wore was nowhere to be seen. Eyes sharp with focus; lips pressed together in deep concentration.

As earnest as a sculptor completing a masterpiece. Marianne held her breath and watched.

She had thought him a shallow man besotted with her beauty — and one without any sense of proportion, at that. But from his profile, one felt a curiously weighty sense of responsibility and an uncompromising professionalism.

Or was it not that? Or was he going to these lengths precisely because he was besotted with her elegance?

Just then. A pleasant aroma wafted over from inside.

Creak—

Without quite aning to, Marianne pushed the door open and stepped in.

"Working at this hour?"

Jurgen turned his head.

"Lady Blanchard. You haven't gone ho yet?"

"It's my restaurant. The owner should be keeping an eye on things."

Marianne spoke with deliberate hauteur and approached the counter.

"What were you doing?"

"Choosing a wine pairing for the Ribs."

Jurgen gestured with his chin toward the Seasoned Ribs.

"Would you taste them and help decide?"

Marianne started slightly. Casually offering wine when the two of them were alone together — opening a conversation with that as the pretext —

'Hang on, surely not. Is this man using work as an excuse to have a drink with here……?'

Quite the sophisticated move. But there was no reason she couldn't play along. She was rather peckish, as it happened.

"If it's a tasting, then I suppose there's no choice. Let see……."

She accepted the glass with deliberate composure and took a bite of the Ribs.

"When did sothing manage to taste like this again……."

Before she knew it, Marianne had let out a gasp of admiration. It was clearly the sa familiar Ribs from Royal Kitchen she had tasted before — and yet entirely different.

The sharp tang of Welsh onion purée and the nutty richness of pine nut oil wrapped the sweetness of the Ribs in sothing refined and elegant. She took a sip of the wine he had selected.

"……!"

"How does it taste?"

Marianne nodded vigorously.

Being from Nortaris herself, she was well acquainted with alcohol — but a pairing this thoroughly attuned to the food was sothing she had never experienced before.

"Remarkable!"

"That is a relief."

The mont Jurgen broke into a grin —

Gurgle.

A sound ca from Marianne's stomach.

There was no helping it. She had spent the ti up until just now sweating as she rearranged furniture, and at this late hour had been treated to a bite of magnificently flavoured Ribs and a sip of wine.

The appetite that had been lying dormant had erupted.

"Umm, Lord Jurgen."

"Yes?"

Marianne let out a deliberate cough, as though no sound whatsoever had been heard, and continued in an even tone.

"Would you happen to be able to make sothing else for ?"

"Sothing else?"

"Having tasted the Ribs, I find I'd like to assess your abilities one more ti."

"You must be quite hungry."

Marianne hid her rapidly flushing face behind her fan.

"Lord Jurgen, please don't be overly familiar. We are business partners, but I am still a Countess."

"Asking whether you are hungry is hardly impertinent, is it?"

Marianne was sowhat taken aback. The way Jurgen spoke to her was too — how to put it — equal.

The curious thing was that his manner was entirely natural. So natural, in fact, one might almost mistake him for a fellow noble.

She could hardly say 'how dare a commoner!' given how much help she had received from him. And strangely enough, she did not particularly dislike it.

"Well, I suppose. If the proprietress collapses from hunger, who is going to manage the opening day after tomorrow."

Jurgen rolled his shirt sleeves up once more, without any sign of inconvenience.

"Sit and wait. It won't take long."

Jurgen picked up his knife without hesitation. Without a trace of reluctance, tending to a hungry business partner — that too was entirely natural in him.

"I told you not to be overly familiar……."

Tap, ta-tap, tap.

The cheerful sound of the knife filled the silence. Jurgen took leftover vegetables and remaining seafood from the refrigerator.

He did not appear to have any grand dish in mind.

The fragrant sll of garlic sautéing in olive oil in the pan.

The sizzle of Prawns and Scallops cooking through. Then White Wine poured in last, a Flambé rising in a burst of fla.

Marianne sat with her chin in her hand, staring blankly at his back.

Broad shoulders. The tendons on the forearms that had been rolled up. The sharp line of his profile, focused entirely on the cooking.

"Here. Eat."

Before she realised it, Jurgen had placed a steaming plate before her.

It was a simple Oil pasta with scallops and Prawns. But the glistening noodles and the generous seafood looked trendously appetising.

"It won't be as good as Brigitte's, but it will be worth eating."

"Ahem…… thank you for the food."

Marianne lifted her fork.

Slurp.

The savoury oil sauce, the fragrance of garlic, and the springy texture of the Prawns and Scallops spread through her mouth. As expected — a magnificent flavour.

"It's delicious."

"Glad to hear it. Do eat plenty. It's going to be a battle before long — you'll need to build up your strength."

Jurgen perched on the opposite side and watched her eat with a warm expression. Marianne found his gaze embarrassing, and yet her heart stirred, oddly.

'Why am I like this……?'

She had thought him a man with transparent motives — clearly after sothing in exchange for clearing her debts. An obvious materialist. But that gaze was far removed from the cloying, thick kind of look that entailed.

It was more like the eyes of soone who had found a true comrade, if anything.

And yet Marianne had been full of plans to use him and simply take everything of value from the arrangent. What unsettled her most was finding herself stirred by it.

Despite how delicious it was, without even knowing where it was going, Marianne's late-night al ca to an end.

"Ahem, thank you for the food. Lord Jurgen."

"If you're done, you may head off first. I only have the washing up left."

"Thank you."

Jurgen cleared away the plate composedly and stood. Marianne walked toward the exit with strangely reluctant steps, her gaze fixed on his broad back.

Marianne tore her eyes away and stepped outside.

"Have you lost your mind, Marianne Blanchard? You're a Countess! He's a commoner!"

The night air was cool.

But Marianne's cheeks — whether from the wine or not — were flushed a soft, rosy red.