Re:Zero - Jobless Reincarnation: Succubus Sword God? I don't recognize it!

Chapter 517 Eating and Murder

"It tastes terrible."

Those three words caused the Black Dragon Knights, the Northern Kings, standing beside Randolph to change color drastically.

That Allen Boreas Greirat, he's fucking awful.
That's honest.

Is it really that straightforward?

Is this the kind of truth that can be said so openly?

You were asked to give your feedback, and you actually did? He calls himself a chef, and you just go along with it?

Isn't that just provoking us? What if a fight really breaks out? What should we do??
What does it matter if we die at your hands?
So, we're just unlucky?
Randolph seemed surprised that Allen could be so direct, and his expression froze.

Parkus took the napkin from Allen and wiped the cold sweat that had instantly seeped out of his forehead.

Allen put down the napkin he was wiping his mouth and looked at Randolph, the Grim Reaper, whose expression had changed.

He pointed to the carefully and evenly sliced ​​pieces of meat on the plate, holding up one finger:
In that instant, everyone's back muscles tensed up with his movement.

Then we heard Allen say this:
"Dragon meat has a very strong fibrous texture. Foods with a strong fibrous texture often provide a strong taste sensation, allowing people to fully appreciate the original feel of meat. Generally speaking, this type of meat is also relatively easy to prepare."

"Simply cook using methods like boiling, frying, and grilling, and pair them with condiments to cut through the richness, so as to restore the original flavor of the ingredients."

These words stunned everyone except Aisha.

No, wait a moment?

You really know a lot?

Randolph's expression showed a fleeting surprise upon hearing this, but he quickly nodded with a straight face: "That's true. Me too."

Ding ding.

Alan tapped the edge of the plate with his spoon, making a crisp sound, and interrupted Randolph as he looked at the bland sauce on the plate, devoid of any oil:

"That's how you did it, similar to how you handle deep-sea fish, and it seems fine. But that's just a general rule. Randolph, let me ask you, do you know how fishy dragon meat is?"

Randolph twitched his nose and drew out a long "uh".

Allen poked at the evenly sliced, two-centimeter-thick pieces of meat on his plate with his fork.

"It's true that you should restore the original flavor of the ingredients, but that means restoring the original flavor of the ingredients that can be called advantages. Can you call this fishy smell an advantage? Even demons know to bleed their meat. What's the difference between what you're doing and stuffing raw meat directly into the customer's mouth?"
Dragon meat has clear advantages and disadvantages, don't you know? Its advantage is its crisp, chewy texture. So how should this meat be prepared?

If you want thick slices, you need to marinate them and serve them with a rich broth to mask any fishy smell and highlight the crisp and springy texture of the meat.

Alternatively, you can slice it thinly and lightly fry it in high-quality oil to remove as much of the fishy smell as possible.

If you process it like this, it will taste fishy all the time. Who can appreciate the deliciousness of chewing dragon meat?

It's like I serve you a pile of shit that smells awful and tastes even worse, and you laugh and tell me it tastes really good.

Are you sure that in this situation, I'd still be in the mood to appreciate its crisp and chewy texture and give it a "delicious" rating?

Upon hearing this, Randolph quickly moved closer to Allen, picked up a piece of dragon meat with his finger, and put it in his mouth to chew.

It really is.
My mouth was instantly filled with a fishy smell. Under these circumstances, even though the dragon meat tasted good, it felt like eating chewy excrement.

Just then, the plate in his line of sight was pushed away by Allen with disdain.

The latter casually tossed the half-eaten meat into the trash can amidst everyone's horrified gazes.

He wiped his hands and looked at Randolph's face, which had become incredibly sour.

"So here's the question, Randolph, do you know what you most need to improve right now?"

Randolph nodded subconsciously.

Allen pointed to Parkus beside him.

"Let me introduce you to the seventh prince of the Kingdom of Xilon: Pacus Xilon. Just by looking at his physique, you can tell he is a discerning gourmet."

Fortunately, the Adventurers' Guild has a kitchen and dragon meat. Make it again as I said, let him try it, and you'll see.

Everyone was stunned by what they heard.

Parkus looked at Allen with a horrified expression, as if to say, "Why did you suddenly want to harm me?"

Randolph, however, suddenly turned around and disappeared in front of Allen in an instant.

Immediately afterwards, a chef's exclamation and a clattering sound came from the kitchen at the far end of the first floor.

The Northern Kings brought by Death Randolph glanced at the piece of meat in the trash can next to Allen, which had been eaten once and then thrown away, and then at the busy figures faintly visible in the kitchen at the end of the first floor.

Everyone is confused.

Not
The vice-captain didn't mean that he was just carrying the tray to make it easier to start a conversation, to pry out some information, and to judge whether the other party's strength was as strong as rumored.
But it's one thing that they were about to fight just now, but now the situation has suddenly changed and they're cooking a meal?
what?
Parkus, even more of a Muggle, frowned and glanced sideways at Allen, trying to figure out what he was up to.

However, the latter remained calm, simply sipping his wine and gazing at the kitchen doorway while resting his chin on his hand.

The awkward silence didn't last long. The aroma of food wafted over, and soon Randolph, carrying a plate and wearing an apron, came out of the kitchen.

Place the plate steadily in front of Allen.

Allen glanced at the slices of meat on his plate.

This time, the dragon meat was sliced ​​very thinly, only two millimeters thick, each slice coated in a rich, oily sauce, and presented exquisitely on the plate.

It looks cloying at first glance.

Allen smiled and held up one finger, pushing the plate towards Parkus.

“Try it.” Parkus’s lips twitched as he looked up at Randolph’s expression, who tilted his head slightly, looked at Parkus, and smiled in a terrifying way.

Please give me a review.

Parkus then turned to look at Allen.

The latter tapped the table, indicating that he could eat without worry.

He then picked up a fork from the table, carefully speared a piece of dragon meat, and, while carefully managing his facial expression, put it into his mouth.

chew.
Then he paused, looking up at Randolph in surprise.

He crunched away, swallowed at lightning speed, then forked another piece, put it in his mouth, and continued chewing. He repeated this several times before exclaiming in surprise:

"This is delicious, truly amazing. Both the texture and the flavor are excellent."

Randolph's face lit up with the joy of rain after a long drought: "Is that really true?"

Pakus nodded seriously: "I also thought it would taste bad, but it really is delicious."

As soon as he finished speaking, Aisha raised an eyebrow, leaned over, forked a piece of food, and stuffed it into her mouth.

The next moment, his face fell, and under Parkus's astonished gaze, he spat into the nearby trash can with a "pui!": "It's all oily! It doesn't taste good at all!"

Randolph was taken aback, looking somewhat at a loss.

Then Allen tapped the table, pointed to the plate in front of Parkus, and said with a smile:

"Too much oil! These slices of meat are so thin, with only a few drops of oil on the bottom of the pan. You're supposed to use chopsticks promoted by the Serende Chamber of Commerce to flip the meat slices over and cook them until you smell the aroma. How did you, Randolph, do that?"

Randolph paused.

—He poured half a pot of oil into the oil and fried it.

But to everyone's surprise, Allen changed the subject: "Your cooking skills are terrible in my opinion, beyond saving, but I still congratulate you, you are still a qualified chef."

As he spoke, under Randolph's surprised gaze, he pushed the first plate of greeting gifts that the other party had just prepared in front of Parkus.

"Want to try this?"

Parkus's face stiffened. He glanced cautiously at Randolph, then picked up his fork, speared a piece of meat, and put it in his mouth again.

Then he paused, a puzzled expression on his face.

He tasted another slice, then another, and defiantly emptied his plate of meat under the horrified gazes of everyone and the astonished gaze of Randolph.

He then let out a satisfied burp, ignoring Randolph, and immediately turned to Allen: "This tastes pretty good too, Lord Allen. Is your sense of taste... um?"

Allen waved his hand, leaned forward on the table, and looked at Randolph, who was staring intently at Parkus:
"In our eyes, Randolph, your cooking skills are terrible, beyond redemption, and you can't be taught anything."

Even so, there are still people who can genuinely appreciate your cooking skills and express their admiration.

So the core of the problem is you, Randolph Marian: do you need to improve your cooking skills to please others? What you need to change isn't your cooking skills or your methods, but your perception and your mindset.

Everyone's tastes are different. Even if you cook a dish that satisfies me according to my requirements today, can you guarantee that others will like it?

Randolph hesitated and said, "Can't?"

Allen nodded: "Yes, no. So for you, the focus shouldn't be on improving your cooking skills, but on finding someone who truly appreciates the food you make and cooking for them, you understand?"

You just said you don't like killing? You like cooking?

"Then let me ask you, how do you usually kill people?"

Randolph glanced at Allen: "Kill him however is convenient. If stabbing him in the heart is the fastest, then stab him in the heart. If that's inconvenient, then behead him. If beheading isn't good, then poison him. If poisoning doesn't work, then..."

Allen waved his hand: "Alright, I see now. You have no ambition even when you're killing people, how can you cook well?"

Randolph paused for a moment: "Because I don't like killing, but even so, General Chagall praised my methods of killing."

Allen laughed, stabbing Randolph in the heart from afar: "Does he like the way you kill? He likes the result of your killing. He likes that you kill the people he wants to kill. It's a customized demand, just like I ask you to cook for me according to my taste."

Are you sure this is genuine praise? If you kill the king tomorrow, will he still praise you?

Upon hearing this, the Black Dragon Knights finally lost their composure and erupted in uproar.

Randolph looked into Allen's eyes, thought carefully, and said, "No."

Allen pointed at the bewildered Parkus: "Does he know what dishes you're going to make today?"

Randolph then looked at Parkus: "I don't know."

Allen shrugged: "Then who truly appreciates you? Isn't it obvious?"

Randolph nodded: "It's obvious."

Allen pulled out a chair and gestured for Randolph to sit down: "I'm happy for Parkus that he's found a kindred spirit."

Randolph swayed slightly and plopped down on the seat. To the astonishment of everyone in the association, he turned to look at Parkus, who was surprised but suddenly delighted: "Shall I make you another dish? Would you like to try it?"

Parkus looked at Randolph for a moment, then reached out and took his hand: "You've had your fill today, how about tomorrow?

Randolph nodded, "That's true." He turned to Allen, "Then shouldn't we get down to business?"

Allen nodded: "Yes."

He raised his glass, looking directly into Randolph's eyes:

"So you've been observing me for so long, and you've already figured out how to kill me?"

(End of this chapter)