The Noble Head Chef (14)
As I headed toward Bue's city hall, I couldn't stop thinking about that poor girl, Francois. It was an unavoidable situation, but still, she'd ended up looking like a beggar because of me. That said, I wasn't some philanthropist who could roll up my sleeves and fix her entire life. It was regrettable, but all I could do was offer this much help...
While I was at it, I needed to find a head chef now that I'd come this far. But would there be anyone suitable? The last bunch who applied for the job mostly couldn't cook worth a damn—some even tried to teach me their ways, the lunatics. Guys who scrape together half-baked experience somewhere always think their old haunt was the best and try to force that mold on everywhere else.
If I just wanted to run a mediocre inn, I could've plopped any old fool in the kitchen and called it a day. But that's not me at all. My inn has to excel in everything—better than anywhere else. If it couldn't, I never would've retired to open this place. I'd just be lounging around, collecting my pension like some idle layabout.
Plus, as they say, people make the place. One bad hire can change the whole vibe. And most importantly, a competent head chef means less work dumped on me. Sure, the staff I have now are all smart and hardworking. But they're not quite ready to handle the kitchen solo. That's a whole different beast.
Della can whip up a little something—she learned from cookbooks, after all—but she's not slick enough at it yet. What I need is someone who can juggle a full menu board, with every table ordering different dishes, and handle it all smoothly. We're not there yet, so right now it's just one fixed menu per meal, cooked in bulk and portioned out by headcount.
If we could run it like a proper restaurant, we'd draw crowds not just for rooms but for the food alone. The question is... can I actually snag a head chef with that kind of skill?
"Wait! Balder!"
I turned at the voice calling from behind. Francois was running barefoot toward me. What now? Short on cash?
"What's up?"
"Hah... hah... About the head chef job..."
I waited while she caught her breath. Once she had, Francois spoke up.
"What if... I did it?"
"You? As head chef?"
I was a bit surprised. She was clearly nobility. I'd never heard of a noblewoman cooking. Noble ladies consider kitchen work beneath them—they never set foot in one.
"Yeah. I know my way around a kitchen. I went to the capital's culinary academy right up to graduation year."
"The capital's culinary academy?!"
This time, I was genuinely shocked. Did she mean that famous Cuisine Academy? The place is legendary—passing the entrance exam alone gets you hired at any high-end restaurant, no questions asked. Reaching graduation year there? Her skills are guaranteed, no verification needed. By then, they've weeded out everyone but the elite; the diploma's just a formality.
If true, snagging her after smashing those six baronies was like hitting the jackpot—a priceless treasure.
Of course, assuming she was telling the truth.
"Graduation year at Cuisine Academy, and you didn't finish for a cushy gig like royal palace chef?"
"My family forced an arranged marriage. That's why I got dragged out before graduating."
"Makes sense. But from what I know, noblewomen never cook..."
"My parents weren't that stuffy. If you don't believe me, check my enrollment records at Cuisine Academy."
She said it so confidently, it didn't seem like a lie. But verifying paperwork from the capital would take at least a week round trip.
"Hmm..."
Seeing me hesitate, Francois made a new pitch.
"How about this, Balder? I'll work at your inn for free until the academy sends proof. I don't know your standards, but I promise you'll be satisfied."
"Well... Cuisine Academy grad-year level? No contest. But are you sure about jumping in blind? You don't even know what kind of guy I am. What if the inn thing's bullshit?"
"You're no lowlife thug, that's clear. So, help me out—give me a shot?"
Her deal was risk-free for me. If she's good, keep her; if not, cut her loose. And employing a Cuisine Academy prodigy at a roadside inn? Unthinkable windfall.
"Deal. Let's head to the inn. Wash up, eat, rest—then we'll talk proper."
"Thanks, Balder."
Francois smiled, then suddenly staggered and collapsed. I caught her just in time—otherwise, she'd have cracked her skull.
Quick check: pulse steady, color okay. Just exhaustion from all the tension snapping at once. Dropped in a strange city barefoot and penniless—who wouldn't be wrecked? Now with a place to crash, her body gave out.
I considered a quick rest here, but nah—straight to the inn via hellhorse. She'd recover better in comfort.
Carrying Francois into the inn, the hall was packed for lunch.
"What the—Boss! You said you'd skip meals till after hours!"
Marim, blinking between tables, yelled at the sight of me. Idi and Pelle glanced over.
"Marim, prep a room on the third floor, quick."
"I'm swamped...!"
She griped but blinked upstairs in a flash. I carried Francois up.
"This one's good—next to Celereja's."
I laid Francois on the bed and turned to Marim.
"Exhausted from wandering. Just watch her, leave a water pitcher. Nothing else for now."
"Who's she?"
"New head chef."
"Eek?!"
Marim made a weird noise, eyeing Francois. Normal hiring's ads, interviews—not fainting into the boss's arms for day one.
"Oh yeah—kitchen, stat! Della-sis is dying down there solo."
"Got it."
Heading down, Della was sweating buckets, stir-frying a massive pot of rice. Lunch: simple fried rice, by the looks.
"Della, gimme that."
"Eung! Boss! Why so late?!"
She teared up, sniffling like a kid. Yeah... Della's not quite head-chef material yet.
"Sorry, sorry. I'll handle it—you help the hall."
Somehow, we scraped through lunch without disaster.
After lunch rush, as guests cleared out, I got an earful from the staff. Marim whined about me being late despite promising to pop in pre-lunch. Della sniffled about her sore wrists. Idi just grinned, relieved I was safe. Pelle tallied supplies in silence.
Luckily, it wasn't too bad—I'd come back for every meal these past three days, not vanished entirely. Otherwise, I could've trashed those six baronies in a day or two... but the girls would've torn me apart instead.
"Lunch delay was head-chef hunting. Ran into her by chance."
"What kinda person? Doesn't look the type to get her hands dirty."
The others eyed me curiously at Marim's question.
"Not sure exactly. Noblewoman."
The hall went dead silent, like ice water dumped.
Idi spoke first.
"Noble...? Why would a noble chef at an inn...?"
"For real. She was at a wedding in that last barony I wrecked. Nobles marry nobles—you know that much?"
Footsteps from the stairs. Pale-faced Francois descended cautiously, now in Della's borrowed clothes instead of rags. Her poise and gait screamed elegance.
"She's a real noble..."
Della whispered, awestruck. We all stared blankly as she approached.
Francois's gaze lingered on Marim's long ears and Pelle's horns. But like a proper noble, she showed zero reaction.
"So this is your inn, Balder. And you all must be the staff."
First-meeting casual speech, but no one pushed back. Her voice was so refined, it felt natural—like she deserved it. On the road, I hadn't clocked it, but up close? Nobility through and through.
"I'm Francois. Balder might've mentioned—I'll chef here temporarily. Whether I stay's up to him."
Marim leaned in, whispering.
"Who's Balder, boss?"
"My surname... Marim."
"Ahaha..."
Marim laughed awkwardly and backed off. I cleared my throat.
"Let's eat first and do intros. We haven't eaten, and you probably skipped proper meals too."
"How about I cook? Gotta prove my skills anyway."
"You sure? You just woke up."
"Fine by me. Cooking's always a joy."
I checked the others—no objections—so I nodded. Francois grabbed pen and paper, scribbled, then showed me.
The staff crowded around. Mouths gaped. Even I stared up at her, dumbfounded.
"What... the hell is this...?"