Chapter 76
Maison Monbel had received a strange reservation request.
Strange reservation requests themselves were no longer unusual.
By now, even if a guest asked me to make a plate talk during the meal, I'd have the confidence to ask about the price first.
I might have to call in the Season Four Magic Tower Doraemon, but…
But this request was strange in a different way.
“You want to watch the cooking process?”
I looked down at the reservation form.
Uncle Bernard quietly nodded.
“Yes. Viscount Garmel made the request personally. He said that Maison Monbel's dishes were excellent in their final form, but that the process of creating them must itself possess an artistic quality.”
“He said he wanted to see that.”
“Yes.”
“From the table?”
“If possible, he said he wanted to watch it up close from somewhere near the dining area. In exchange, he offered to pay twice the price of the basic course.”
I was silent for a moment.
There are many strange people in the world.
And among those strange people, the ones who pay a lot are good customers.
“We'll take it.”
Marie said immediately from beside me.
“Really?”
“It's double.”
“True, but you're going to cook in front of a guest? Doesn't that put pressure on you?”
“Cooking is done under pressure in the first place.”
“That sounded cool for a second, but in the end it's about the money, isn't it?”
“Money relieves pressure too.”
Even in my previous life, we'd had an open kitchen.
And when done well, cooking itself could make an excellent show.
Flames, the flash of a knife, sauce falling onto a plate, the chef's fingertips.
Guests build anticipation as they watch the food they're about to eat take shape before their eyes.
But there are many things in a kitchen that shouldn't be shown.
Cutting bones, washing bloodstained ingredients, scrubbing a burned pan, swallowing a curse after someone makes a mistake, the moment everyone is so busy that their faces stop looking human.
Show that as it is, and it's a worksite, not art.
Of course, worksites matter too.
But what we sell the guests is controlled truth.
Show them everything, and we fail.
I accepted Viscount Garmel's request, but changed the order of the day's cooking.
Preparation and trimming would be finished in the back of the kitchen as usual.
In front of the viscount, we'd show only the final cooking, finishing the sauces, assembling the plates, and working with fire.
The parts that looked like art.
More precisely, the parts guests were willing to pay to watch.
Viscount Garmel was an even greater eccentric than I'd expected.
He was a thin man with sharp eyes, and as soon as he sat at the table, he spent longer looking toward the kitchen door than at the decorations around him.
He seemed less interested in food than obsessed with the moment it was made.
“Kyle Prat.”
He looked at me and spoke.
“I've heard the rumors. They say your dishes are stories. But I want to see the moment the ink falls, before the story is written on paper.”
I turned the sentence over in my head for a moment.
What an unnecessarily literary, sentimental man.
“I'll show you what I can. But not every step in a kitchen makes a suitable scene for a guest.”
“I know. I have no intention of claiming that slaughtering animals, splitting bones, and washing away blood are all beautiful. But there must surely be skill in the final moments. That's what I want to see.”
He had a point.
Strange, but not complete nonsense.
I bowed my head.
“Then I'll host you a little differently today.”
The first course went out as usual.
The viscount watched my hands even while he ate.
Guests who watch the chef more than the food are rare.
Usually, such guests are a nuisance, but he'd paid double today, so I could tolerate it.
The scene in question began with the fish course.
I moved a small worktable close to the dining area.
Of course, it wasn't completely separated from the actual kitchen.
Uncle Bernard marked off a boundary, and Marie managed the distance between the guest and the kitchen from in front of it.
Estelle laid down a thin windbreak so the smell and heat wouldn't spread too far.
The viscount's eyes lit up.
I placed the fish, already cleaned and prepared, on the table.
I heated the pan and melted just a little fat.
The moment the fish skin touched the pan, it made a low sizzle.
I pressed it gently with my fingertips so the flesh wouldn't contract, adjusting the heat as I watched the line of cooking rise.
Crisp on the outside, moist within.
The most important thing when cooking in front of a guest is never to stop.
I couldn't let hesitation show.
In reality, I was constantly calculating in my head.
Whether the heat was too high, whether the skin was sticking, how far the flesh had cooked, whether the sauce would hit the plate at the right temperature.
But outwardly, I had to move as though everything had been decided from the beginning.
That's the show.
I didn't flip the fish. Instead, I spooned hot fat over the top.
As the aroma rose, the viscount's expression changed.
He was already experiencing part of the meal before he even tasted the food.
Good. It had to be worth the money.
I finished the sauce separately in a small pan.
I added fruity acidity to the bone broth I'd prepared in advance, then melted in a little butter to give it a sheen.
When I added the herbs at the end, Estelle's magic barrier briefly held the aroma back, then slowly released it toward the viscount.
The viscount was practically holding his breath.
I set the fish on the plate and drew a thin line of sauce around it.
Finally, I placed tiny crystals of salt and finely chopped herbs on the skin.
When the dish was complete, the viscount applauded.
“Excellent.”
He hadn't even eaten yet.
“I never imagined cooking could look like such a quiet duel. Fire and ingredients, hands and time refuse to yield to one another, yet in the end they become a single dish.”
‘Has this man gone completely overboard with his literary sensibilities?’
The viscount ate the fish and marveled once more.
“The taste is excellent too. But I think I'll remember the moment before the dish was set down for longer.”
After the meal, he paid an additional fee.
Uncle Bernard quietly checked the amount and raised one eyebrow ever so slightly.
That reaction alone told me it was a considerable sum.
As he left, the viscount said,
“Set up a place like this for me next time as well. It was a sight too wonderful to keep to myself.”
A problem had arisen.
A good kind of problem.
That night, I gathered Elysia and the kitchen staff.
Marie, Thomas, Nina, Lia, Baron, Estelle, and Uncle Bernard.
Once everyone had gathered in one corner of the kitchen, I got straight to the point.
“What if we introduced an open kitchen, at least in part?”
Marie immediately frowned.
“You mean let guests see the kitchen?”
“Not all of it. Just part.”
“Which part?”
“Mainly the area where I stand.”
Marie sighed.
“So you're saying you'll stand in the hardest area again.”
“It's also the best area for guests to see.”
Elysia asked with an interested expression,
“You want to turn the cooking process into a product?”
“Yes. Judging by Viscount Garmel's reaction, there's potential. Some guests will pay not only for the food, but also to watch it being made. Especially scenes involving fire, finishing a sauce, or assembling a plate should be entertaining enough.”
If Count Kleber had been there, he would have applauded immediately.
Fortunately, he wasn't.
Elysia fell into thought.
“If we install a floor-to-ceiling glass wall, we can separate the dining area from the kitchen while still letting guests see inside. But it will cost quite a bit.”
Estelle immediately raised her hand.
“The Magic Tower can provide heat-resistant transparent glass. However, making it large enough to be a complete wall of glass will be expensive. It may fog when exposed to heat and steam, so we'd need to put a mild cleansing spell on the surface.”
“That will cost money too, I suppose.”
At my words, Estelle nodded seriously.
“But it's interesting.”
Which ultimately meant she wanted to do it.
Marie folded her arms.
“I do have one objection. The kitchen staff will get nervous if guests are watching. Especially newcomers might make mistakes. And there are plenty of things we don't want guests to see. Washing dishes, trimming ingredients, preparing meat, mopping the floor. If they see all that too, it'll ruin the dining atmosphere.”
“You're right.”
I acknowledged it immediately.
Marie looked a little surprised.
I continued,
“That's why I don't plan to open everything. The trimming area, washing area, ingredient storage, meat-trimming area, and anywhere the staff are frantically preparing will remain closed. Guests will see only the final cooking and plating area.”
Thomas spoke cautiously.
“Then we'll prepare in the back, and you will finish things in front?”
“That's the basic plan. Once you're used to it, though, you can stand with me for some of the process. You'll also have to learn the movements that look good to the audience.”
Thomas's eyes lit up.
It was a look of admiration.
I found it a little burdensome.
Nina raised her hand.
“Couldn't the cooking take longer if the guests keep watching? Especially if we have to explain things…”
“Uncle Bernard or Marie will control the explanations. The people cooking will say only what's necessary. If the head chef keeps talking while he cooks, both the food and the conversation will suffer.”
Uncle Bernard nodded.
“We'll manage the flow of the guests' attention from the dining hall. However, once we have an open area, the guests will naturally look that way, so we'll have to rearrange the seating as well.”
Elysia brought up money first, as expected.
“We could create special seats.”
“My lady, you were already thinking about raising the prices, weren't you?”
“Of course. Seats in front of the visible kitchen should cost more.”
Marie shook her head.
“You two, honestly…”
Elysia said calmly,
“But let's make it at least somewhat visible to regular guests too. If we give all the best views to the special seats, people may complain. Instead, we can differentiate between seats right in front and seats farther away.”
She was really quick.
The moment she saw an opportunity, she started making a price list.
Lia raised a practical concern.
“Then the front area will always have to be cleaner. And the cooking tools will need to be arranged attractively too.”
“Exactly.”
I nodded.
“The open area becomes a stage. The knives, pans, saucepots, plates, even the cloths for wiping our hands—all of it has to be kept in order. It's over if it looks dirty. Guests want to see a kitchen alive and moving, not a disaster area.”
Baron said,
“Then the work in back is just as hard, but only the front gets to look impressive?”
It was a good point.
“That's right.”
Baron looked flustered.
“Pardon?”
“That's how restaurants normally are. What guests see is always only part of the whole. What's important is that we don't forget the labor in back just because it's hidden. And the more applause the people in front receive, the more we need to reward the people in back.”
Marie nodded.
“I like that.”
“I'm thinking of diverting part of the revenue from the open-kitchen special seats into kitchen bonuses.”
The atmosphere in the kitchen changed at once.
Thomas straightened, while Nina and Lia looked at each other.
Even half of Baron's earlier dissatisfaction had vanished from his face.
Money is an excellent tool for persuasion.
Elysia smiled at me.
“You're getting good at negotiating too.”
“I learned from you, my lady.”
That settled the matter.
We wouldn't open the entire kitchen.
Areas difficult to make look clean and presentable to guests would remain closed.
Meat-cutting, fish preparation, washing, ingredient storage, and the warlike prep work would stay in the back of the kitchen.
Instead, the final cooking area where we used fire, the sauce-finishing station, the magical treatment that opened up the aromas, and the plating area would be visible through transparent glass.
And I would usually stand at its center.
I didn't know whether it was a good idea or a bad one.
But it would make money.
It would also make me tired again.
The two generally came together.
When the meeting ended and everyone began to disperse, Marie remained beside me.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“What about?”
“Cooking constantly in front of guests. It looks cool, but it seems like it'd be exhausting.”
“It will be tiring.”
“Then why do it?”
I thought for a moment.
“Because the cooking process can also be part of the flavor.”
Marie stared at me.
“That doesn't sound like the real reason.”
“It makes money too.”
“Now that sounds like you, Kyle.”
The kitchen would soon change.
Guests would now see not only the food, but also the moment it was completed.
Every cut of my knife, every adjustment of the heat, a spoonful of sauce, and the fingertips placing the final salt on the plate.
Hide what should be hidden, and make what should be shown even more impressive.
That's a restaurant.
I looked at the empty cooking area and thought.
Even in my previous life, open kitchens had always been double-edged swords.
Done well, they became the best stage; done poorly, they became an expensive way for guests to watch kitchen mistakes.
But Maison Monbel could make it work.
And I'd already had plenty of experience cooking in open kitchens in my previous life.