Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Cottage Pie and Cookie Chaos
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Meylin was in charge of the sauce for the Cottage Pie.
Precise temperature control was essential to evaporate the moisture for a thick texture without burning it.
In the large wok, the red tomato sauce bubbled vigorously.
Chunks of beef, diced just large enough to provide a satisfying chew.
Onions, carrots, celery, and a variety of other vegetables all mingled together in the tomato sauce, releasing a rich, deep aroma.
"Good. It's all done."
Meylin scooped up a bit with a spoon, tasted the sauce, and nodded with a satisfied expression.
Her team had worked seamlessly together from start to finish.
Once Meylin poured the well-cooked beef sauce evenly into two large square trays, Samuel spread a thick layer of mashed potatoes—mixed with milk and butter for a creamy smoothness—on top.
It was as meticulous and caring as tucking someone in with a warm blanket.
With Joel sprinkling mozzarella cheese over the potatoes, the three of them finally set down their tools at the same time.
"Phew... It's done."
Meylin wiped the sweat from her forehead and checked the clock.
Thirty minutes left.
While other teams were still battling it out at their stoves, Meylin's team leisurely began cleaning their workstation.
Their dish was over 95% complete.
Now, there was just one step remaining.
Ten minutes before the end, they would slide these two trays into the oven and bake them until golden brown.
Baking them ahead would make the cheese harden and the potatoes cool, ruining the flavor.
It was a strategic choice to serve the children the dish at its absolute best.
But as someone once said,
Idle hands lead to idle thoughts, and too many thoughts breed unhappiness.
Meylin, who had been wiping down the counter with a blank expression, let out a deep sigh as she gazed at the trays filled with Cottage Pie.
"Haa... I'm sorry."
"Hm? Sorry for what?"
"I insisted on changing the menu. You two could have made something even better..."
Her voice was utterly dejected.
At her words, Joel and Samuel burst out laughing in unison, as if on cue.
"No need to apologize. We all agreed to it."
"Exactly. And I snuck a taste of the sauce left in the wok earlier... It was incredible! If I gave it to my little girl, she would've licked the plate clean."
Joel gave her a thumbs-up in encouragement, but Meylin's expression didn't brighten.
"Still... now that it's done, it looks so plain. I'm worried."
Their dish had no visual appeal, no matter how nicely you tried to describe it.
To put it bluntly, it just looked like a pile of mashed potatoes.
No fancy garnishes, no vibrant colors to stimulate the appetite.
If you placed this pale potato mound next to cakes or whole roasts, what child would even glance at it?
Meylin's shoulders slumped.
But unlike the worried Meylin, Joel and Samuel remained completely relaxed.
Whether they were certain they wouldn't lose, or simply had no regrets even if they did.
They just smiled kindly.
Unable to shake her anxiety, Meylin furtively glanced around the contest hall.
"Uwaaah! My sauce! Who knocked it over?!"
"Hey! Can't you control the fire properly? The meat's all burnt!"
"That's because you flipped it late! Why are you yelling at me?!"
It was a completely different scene from Meylin's harmonious workstation.
Teams grimacing over lack of time, teams screaming blame over ruined dishes, even teams grabbing each other's collars in fights.
It was utter chaos.
In the midst of the pandemonium, she even spotted the supervisor huddled in a corner.
She had no idea why Count Del BlackStone looked like he'd lost everything, staring blankly at the floor...
'Still... we're doing way better than the teams that are fighting.'
Meylin was comforting herself like that when—
"Goddamn it! I told you we couldn't finish on time with this!"
A booming roar pierced through the hall's noise and hit Meylin's ears.
Startled, she looked toward the source and saw...
Dave, who always seemed so cool and arrogant, and his teammate Jackson glaring at each other like they wanted to kill one another.
Dave Potail was a genius.
He wasn't exceptional at every type of cooking, but in the field of pastries and baking, his skill was unmatched.
Even within the Potail family, his prowess in confections and breads was already recognized as reaching mastery.
So, something as simple as cookies was child's play for him—he could make them blindfolded.
10kg in two hours?
For Dave, it was more than enough time—practically excessive.
The moment the contest began, Dave directed his teammates like extensions of his own limbs.
"Emily, crack 30 eggs. Separate the yolks from 20 of them. Jackson, cream the butter and sugar together properly. Don't stop for a second."
He assigned the grunt work to his teammates while handling the precise measurements and dough consistency himself.
Thanks to that efficient division of labor, the mountain of ingredients quickly turned into smooth dough.
After chilling it in the freezer magic tool to the perfect firmness, there was still an hour left.
Dave smiled, certain of victory.
"Perfect."
Dave checked the remaining time and flashed a confident grin.
Shaping basic round cookies would take less than 10 minutes.
15 minutes to bake per batch.
With 2kg of dough per tray and baking two trays at once, 10kg was easily achievable.
Even accounting for moisture loss during baking.
The first tray came out perfectly golden. The second was flawless too.
The hall filled with the sweet, nutty aroma of butter, drawing envious glances from other teams.
But the moment Dave opened the oven door for the third batch...
"...Huh?"
Dave panicked at the unexpected crisis.
"The oven temperature... it's dropped."
His face went pale.
Dave had always cooked in the wealthy Potail household kitchens.
His ovens were top-grade magic ones that maintained steady heat with just a magic stone swap.
But this was a plain wood-fired oven.
Heat escaped every time the door opened and closed, with no way to regulate the temperature—a primitive tool.
"Firewood! Add more firewood! Stoke the fire again!"
Dave shouted urgently, but Jackson replied in despair from beside him.
"It's too late even if we add it now! It'll take at least 20 minutes for the temperature to recover! Plus we have to clear the smoke and stabilize it!"
"What?"
"I told you! It's impossible with this oven!"
Finally, the pent-up frustration exploded.
Dave bit his lip hard.
As much as he hated it, Jackson was right.
Thirty minutes left.
Twenty to reheat the oven left only ten for baking—and there was still a ton of dough to go!
"Damn it!"
Dave roughly raked his hair.
His perfect plan was crumbling due to something as basic as heat control.
"What now?!"
"Shut up! Be quiet!"
Dave snarled at Jackson's accusation, but his eyes were shaking badly.
At this rate, they'd have to discard half the dough.
Which meant automatic disqualification for insufficient weight.
In his desperation, Dave's mind raced until one idea emerged.
"Jackson, light the fire right now! Fan it like mad to heat the oven as fast as possible!"
He gritted his teeth and barked the order.
"Emily, make the dough pieces smaller. Half the original size!"
"B-but that'll ruin the texture! The chewiness will be gone—it'll just be hard biscuits!"
"Better than being undercooked and eliminated!"
Dave irritably tore apart the large dough balls and reshaped them smaller.
Gourmet texture? Flavor?
Now wasn't the time for that.
They just needed to get it baked in time!
"What are you staring at? Hurry up!"
His teammates reluctantly followed his commands.
They couldn't afford to give up and lose.
As everyone scrambled, Dave looked the most frantic.
Where was the elegant swan-like poise he always cooked with?
Sweat pouring down as he reformed the dough, he looked like a desperate struggle for survival.
As time passed and the contest hall's tension heated up,
Count Del BlackStone was half out of his body in spirit.
'...What do I do.'
His earlier words echoed in his ears like a hallucination.
- "Only an asshole would eat crap like that."
Del clutched his face with both hands.
Dignity? Refinement?
They had vanished like smoke with that one remark.
What would people call him now?
The Venomous Count? Or... the Asshole Count?
'...No. Leban wouldn't air that as-is. He's my son, after all. He wouldn't drag his father's reputation through the mud... not into the toilet.'
How could he have foreseen his son flirting with Lucia, debating how to spread his father's words even further?
As this family tragedy neared completion,
"Ten minutes remaining! Participants, finish up your dishes!"
Lucius's booming voice echoed through the hall.
At the same time, Meylin picked up the trays with a determined expression.
"Time to bake!"
"Yeah. Grab this side?"
The cheese-topped Cottage Pie slid carefully into the hot oven under their gentle hands.
The dice had been cast.
Everything would be decided by the results.