Chapter 14
Playing the role of an Executive Chef wasn't something one could do with mere bravado. Especially considering that when I occasionally appeared before customers, most of them were VVIP customers.
They weren't called VVIPs (Very Very Important Persons) for nothing. They were, quite literally, very, very important people.
There were Directors, Managing Directors, and Executive Directors of colossal corporate giants whose names alone would make you shudder, all the way up to Presidents and Chairmen. There were even true Zaibatsu, a class apart from the upper-crust aristocrats who commanded astronomical capital and from Lower Class Asians like me.
Here, money was power, so every customer I faced was a top-tier power broker, capable of not just shooting down a flying bird, but even plucking stars from the sky.
All sorts of influential figures, who held Dusk City's days and nights in their hands, came to taste the restaurant's food, which had gained fame among the wealthy community, and they wanted to hear explanations about the dishes directly from the young genius chef from Neo Tokyo.
And standing before them, I was, in reality, an undocumented foreign worker from the Lower Class. In front of people who could snap my neck with a flick of a finger, I had to act like a genius chef brimming with confidence in my cooking.
I was playing an actor, a role I was never meant for. If I made a mistake, there was no going back. Every stutter felt like a year off my life, and every moment was like walking on thin ice.
What's more, everyone was so eager to show off their knowledge of Asian cuisine that instead of just listening to the explanation and eating, they always had to chime in.
Whether the origin of the dish matched what they knew, or if the flavors they tasted aligned with the Chef's intentions...
While maintaining a mysterious image, appearing aloof yet simultaneously polite, answering was incredibly difficult.
The most challenging part was when members of Japanese Zaibatsu families spoke to me in Japanese.
Contrary to my “Neo Tokyo native” concept, I thought I'd go crazy trying to converse using my poor Japanese skills. Fortunately, their Japanese wasn't particularly excellent either, so I managed to get by, but thinking back to it still sends shivers down my spine.
And that wasn't the end of it. It wasn't just about explaining dishes to VVIPs.
As part of the premium service, I had to complete the dishes right in front of them.
I am picking up sushi with my hands and delicately placing it on the customers' plates, aesthetically drizzling sauce onto plates in front of them, or adding unknown herbs and fish roe as garnishes.
It was a profession that required me to be both an actor and an artist. Moreover, an artist who had to pour his or her heart and soul into every single hand movement.
Imagine placing sushi in front of a Military-industrial Corporation Chairman, guarded by dozens of cyborg bodyguards, and your hand slips, dropping the sushi. If the rice part, the *shari*, hit the plate and crumbled apart? Or if the topping, the *neta*, slid right off?
Just thinking about it was horrifying. Fortunately, that never happened. Perhaps it was thanks to practicing every day, gripping plastic clay of similar size instead of real sushi.
Instead, there were occasional instances where I drizzled more sauce than the manual specified, or spilled it onto the outer rim of the plate where it shouldn't have been. In such cases, my mind would still go blank and my hands would tremble, but at least I could somehow cover it up.
I'd act naturally, as if it had been my intention all along, as if that's how it was meant to be.
If there was too much sauce, it showed dedication; if there wasn't enough, I'd just add a little more. And if it splattered or stained the dish, well, that was just part of the Plating. Ever heard of modern art?
For the past five months, I have lived a life roughly like that, studying Cityspeak and Japanese, cramming restaurant dishes and Japanese culinary terms into my head, and getting accustomed to practical experience in front of various VVIPs.
On days when VVIP reservations were few or nonexistent, as a parachute Head Chef who had suddenly taken over, I would do various odd jobs to get on the kitchen staff's good side.
When the kitchen was busy, I'd even be thrown in as an assistant or cook,
Once I got used to it, before opening or during break times I'd even extend my help to all sorts of tasks as a kitchen Slave: fresh ingredients and tool prep, washing dishes and cleaning, daily inventory checks for ingredients, and so on.
I went through all that hardship to show the corporation and the Chairman that I was a valuable asset and to become an indispensable part of the kitchen.
That's why I told Mr. Dragon that I was accustomed to various odd jobs, capable of customer service, and experienced in Inventory Management. It was the absolute truth.
I described working like a dog at the corporation for a reason. I truly worked like a dog, to the point of exhaustion. It's a miracle I didn't get sick from it.
Even if it was a somewhat unusual arrangement, I prided myself on having played my part well as a member of the kitchen staff. At the very least, I worked more than I was paid. It was a damn pittance of a salary. I wonder when I'll ever get a raise.
Now that I think about it, I'm a little curious about what happened to the restaurant. They probably found a truly skilled Head Chef who could completely replace my fake fame, which is why they let me go.
It was a strange feeling. It was my first job, after all, but it felt like it had just slipped away haphazardly.
...Anyway, all of that was in the past, and I couldn't tell the new President Dragon all the hidden details.
I explained that while I didn't have the skills of a true Executive Chef, having been used mostly as a figurehead, I still possessed cooking abilities at the cook level, and then concluded my self-promotion.
Hmm, I see. So you came to our bar after working at a very successful restaurant. I'm curious how that happened, but... I won't pry.
What was puzzling was that the President wearing the Dragon Helmet didn't seem particularly impressed. Honestly, it's awkward to say so myself, but I'm quite a high-caliber talent. Yet, he seemed more indifferent than pleased or surprised.
Even now, he was asking for more, as if what I'd offered wasn't enough.
[So, no other special skills?]
“Yes. Just that I can speak Japanese and Chinese... nothing else.”
I studied Japanese diligently after coming here, and I learned Chinese as a second language in high school and continued studying it in college. Thanks to that, I was able to quickly adapt to Cityspeak, which is a mix of English, Japanese, and Chinese.
[Well, as a Pure Asian, that's *tōzen* (natural), I suppose... Hmm.]
However, even being proficient in multiple languages didn't seem to impress President Dragon much as a strength. He said with a small sigh.
I'll be frank. You clearly have many excellent skills, but I don't think they're a good fit for our Bar.
He was certainly very frank. If this were an actual interview, those words would be tantamount to a rejection.
I felt a little hurt.
I wondered why.
You look unconvinced. Honestly, I'd probably feel the same. Your career and caliber are quite high for a back-alley Bar like ours to simply turn you away.
His next words made me tilt my head in confusion.
[That's the problem. Your caliber is too high. Literally, you're not a good fit for our Bar.]
“My caliber...?”
[Yes. Cooking. It's an incredibly advanced skill, very difficult to learn and even harder to become a certified cook. It's a truly excellent and remarkable ability. The problem is: would we ever use it at a Bar?]
Why wouldn't we use it? They don't just drink alcohol at a bar, do they? They'd order snacks too, and I could whip up any snack, as long as it wasn't too outlandish.
As I was thinking that.
Of course, our Bar does have a few simple snacks, but as far as I know, they're just factory-made fries, jerky, or packaged snacks that we heat up and serve.
So how great would it be to add cooked snacks to that? I can make anything if I just have the ingredients... Ah.
It was then that I realized the problem.
If I just have the ingredients.
That's right. A neighborhood bar wouldn't have fresh ingredients for cooking.
Just moments ago, I was mentally listing things like the accessibility and price of fresh ingredients, why ordinary people couldn't obtain them, and why cooking had become a rare skill.
*And I'd overlooked something so obvious! I must have gotten too used to the restaurant.*
My face instantly flushed with heat.
Not only were the sourcing and cost of ingredients an issue, but so was the price of snacks. If snacks were made from traditional fresh ingredients, their price would inevitably be astronomical.
They would easily cost hundreds of dollars, so who in the general Lower Levels would readily pay for such a menu? It would be a case of the “tail wagging the dog” — the snacks would be several times more expensive than the alcohol, becoming a menu item that no one would buy and no one would sell.
A place that could afford such cooked snacks would have to be at least a classic bar in a luxury hotel catering to the wealthy.
And while Dragon's Lair certainly boasted a clean and stylish atmosphere... it was, of course, different from such high-end bars. The district, the facilities, and the space were simply on a different level.
As I, finally realizing what the problem was, stood speechless with embarrassment, President Dragon scratched the bridge of his helmet, looking somewhat abashed, and spoke.
Maa (Well), not having a proper kitchen is also a problem. There's no space to set up cooking facilities. We do have a basic electric stove, though.
That's true. I hadn't even considered the issue of cooking facilities or tools. I felt like sinking into the floor.
...I racked my brain, trying to find an alternative, but there was no clever solution.
Even if I were to switch to cheaper, more easily sourced ingredients for cooking, the path ahead was bleak. Cooking with the Four Main Staple Foods? SHIT! I never learned how to do that!
All of them were already processed ingredients, and as I said, you couldn't create any groundbreaking or amazing recipes using insects or seaweed beyond Retort Food products.
Factory-made meal packs had the maximum flavor that could be extracted from those damn alternative ingredients.
At best, they only managed to turn incredibly unappetizing raw materials into merely unappetizing food.
Ultimately, anyone could see that it was wiser to just use the existing products for snacks, both in terms of taste and cost-effectiveness. My Cooking Skill was completely useless, at least in this Bar!
As I despaired, Sasha Dragon pondered for a moment, then spoke.
Well... it can't be helped, can it? Don't be too disappointed. That's just how things are in the world. Let's think about something else first. For now, how about this?
The red Mecha Dragon head winked and said.
[*Issho ni osake nomu* (Do you want to have a drink together)?]
It was a truly sudden and unexpected proposal.