"This group of foreigners can really eat. Basically, everyone is eating one and a half steaks. If only I could have such a good appetite in my sixties or seventies," a customer with a goatee muttered. A certain customer with a goatee in the restaurant muttered. It should be known that beef was not easy to digest, let alone for an old man in his sixties or seventies.
"I think it's actually very easy to maintain such a good appetite." As the third customer to enter the restaurant, the mangaka Cao Mi participated in the discussion.
The customer looked at Cao Mi curiously. "Oh?"
"As long as you're in your sixties or seventies, the Kitchen God is still open, and the head chef is still Boss Yuan," Cao Mi said.
What she said made sense, but would Boss Yuan be sixty years old? With Yuan Zhou's current reputation, if he wanted to join a restaurant, he didn't even need to do anything. He could just come once or twice a month and get a very high salary. It was like this now. It was hard to imagine how famous Yuan Zhou would be in twenty or thirty years.
"No, I have to ask Boss Yuan," the goatee customer muttered. The customer with the goatee muttered. Of course, although he was not a regular customer, he had been here several times and knew the rules. He would definitely not go up and ask Yuan Zhou while he was cooking. Instead, he would wait until the opening hours were over before asking.
At this point, the goatee customer wasn't the only one who wanted to ask. Other people also wanted to ask. Being emotionally invested in something you were used to was like buying breakfast for three or four years in a row. If one day it was suddenly gone, you would still be sad for a period of time. That was human. Not to mention the Kitchen God. It was because of The Kitchen God that Taoxi Road had always existed.
The situation inside the restaurant was like this. Outside the restaurant was another situation. Eight, oh no, nine foreigners in their sixties or seventies were sitting like salted fish on the benches arranged by the queuing committee.
They looked dispirited. They looked at each other and couldn't help but laugh.
"I'm going to communicate with Wu," Remy said. "Baal and Bauduin know that I communicate with Wu almost every day. Wu's brain is like a treasure trove. No matter how we talk, it won't be boring." As he spoke, Remy slowly stood up, greeted everyone, and left.
"The painter sure knows how to act." Dharoma complained in his heart. He had long known that Wu went to the art gallery, but he must have gone to Yuan's shop during mealtimes. Dharoma found that Wu, who was known as the last hope of the European art world, actually didn't like to communicate with others.
Marisello also knew that Remy was lying. Although he hadn't noticed Wu Hai, he was a stupid marmot, not an idiot. Since he had encountered Wu Hai twice, it was obvious that Remy had been eating at Yuan Restaurant for every meal. Maricello recalled that he had asked Remy where they were going to eat lunch, and Remy replied that he would just find a random place to eat.
How cunning! Look at how angry Mariciello is. He's even speaking with a Japanese accent.
Naturally, Troma and Maricello didn't say anything. After all, they were people who cared about their reputation. If they accidentally said that the three of them left Baal and Bauduan behind to eat at Yuan Restaurant, would they still be able to have fun together?
After Remy left, the remaining chefs were all Western food masters. The chefs began to communicate with each other.
"It's been a long time since I've stuffed myself." Baal sighed. "Yuan's steak Wellington is simply a masterpiece. After the first bite, I immediately want a second bite."
"The steak with red wine is absolutely delicious." Bauduan immediately added. His voice was the calmest among the old men, but because of his bloated stomach, he spoke in a low voice. "The Swedish meatball is not inferior to the steak at all. Seriously, I must be too hungry. It's hard to imagine that I finished the meatball and the steak alone. You know, I can barely eat half a steak at home."
"And I know that Yuan's rule is that you have to finish all the food you ordered." Bauduan tried hard to find an excuse for his bloated stomach.
"I asked you to give me a meatball, but you didn't even let me. My God, Bauduan, when did you become so ungentlemanly?" Marisello immediately exposed him. "What do you mean by obeying Yuan's rule? You obviously want to eat it yourself."
Bauduan's eyes narrowed. This stupid groundhog. He finally agreed with the nickname Troma had given him.
"After coming to Yuan's restaurant, I've learned about two types of chefs." Bauduan immediately started another topic to avoid the awkwardness.
Everyone stared at Bauduan, waiting for him to continue. He didn't keep them guessing and said directly, "One type is a chef with a signature dish."
Before he could finish his sentence, Marisello rolled his eyes and said, "So the other type is a chef who doesn't have a signature dish. What an exquisite classification."
The eight of them were all Master Chefs, and some of their disciples were also Master Chefs. How could they not have a few unique skills? Wasn't that obvious?
"The other type is a chef without a signature dish. Yuan is such a chef," Bauduan said.
Everyone was stunned by his words. After thinking about it carefully, they realized that there was indeed no recommended dish on the menu, or rather, the chef's recommendation. Generally speaking, the former was a delicacy made from today's seasonal ingredients, while the latter was the chef's signature dish.
In China, a signature dish was called a specialty dish. Having no specialty dish was actually a derogatory term, whether in China or the West. It meant that the chef's culinary skills were mediocre and he didn't have any outstanding dishes.
However, the meaning of describing Yuan Zhou without a signature dish was completely different.
"I support steak. I have eaten three types of steak. Judging from these three types of steak, every one of them is at the peak of perfection. You can only say which one you personally like. You can't say which one is better, because every one of them is at the peak of perfection," Tuoloma said fairly.
"So, there are only two types of chefs in this world. One is Yuan, and the other is chefs other than Yuan," Marisello concluded straightforwardly.
"I didn't say that." Bauduan shook his head and said, "But apart from Yuan, I've never seen any other chef who can make every dish on the menu a signature dish."
Seen before?
Not to mention seen before.
None of them had ever heard of such a person. The total cooking experience of this group of western food chefs was more than 250 years. If they didn't see Yuan Zhou this time, they wouldn't believe that such a person existed at all.
"Having no signature dish is not only belittling, but it can also be a compliment. But I don't think anyone can hear this compliment other than Yuan," Barr said.
While everyone was praising Yuan Zhou's culinary skills, Gauss remained silent.
"What's wrong, Gauss?" Troma, who was attentive, noticed it and asked, "It's about Yuan's culinary skills. Is there any problem? Tell us and we can discuss it together. "
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