SRVB 16

Chapter 16

“By the way, is there anything I can help you with?”

“It’s a simple dish, so I don’t really need extra hands… Ah! Could you dissolve a lot of sugar for me?”

“Sugar?”

“Yes, we’ll use it later! Make sure it doesn’t burn while melting a lot of it.”

“That’s easy. Leave it to me.”

The chef said he’d get a huge pot to melt the sugar and stepped away for a moment.

Meanwhile, I started cooking in earnest.

Today’s menu was croffles topped with blueberry compote.

Raphael had been about to choose a fancy, unheard-of dish but deliberately picked something simple.

‘A gourmet would understand.’

The simpler the dish, the harder it is to elevate its taste to a refined level.

I intended to show Raphael the difference in skill properly.

The croffles with blueberry compote were tailored to Raphael’s condition.

For some unknown reason, he couldn’t smell very well.

For someone with a weak sense of smell, sour, cold, and richly flavored foods were ideal.

That was why he unconsciously kept eating fruit.

‘If I want to highlight the flavor and aroma of the fruit, compote is better than jam.’

First, I put the well-washed blueberries and sugar into a pot and mixed them. Then I gently cooked them, melting the sugar and softening the berries.

There was no need to cook them fully.

The appeal of compote is preserving the shape of the fruit.

As it bubbled, the juice from the blueberries and the melted sugar combined to form little froths.

When the sweet aroma of blueberries spread through the kitchen, I squeezed in some lemon juice.

I deliberately added a bit more than usual to match Raphael’s condition.

The sourness became stronger, but it would suit him perfectly.

I tasted the finished compote.

“Mmm, smells great!”

Once it cooled, the fruit’s natural tang would be even more pronounced.

While letting the compote cool, I took out the prepared dough to bake the croffles.

Actually, the compote was a versatile sauce, perfect for yogurt, pancakes, cookies, and more.

I chose croffles to enhance the textural contrast.

‘To make the taste fun, it’s better to emphasize texture as well as aroma.’

The soft texture of the compote paired perfectly with the crispy croffles.

Thud—!

I took out the prepared dough and placed it on the counter.

The chef, who had just poured a huge amount of sugar into the pot, looked over curiously.

“Are you baking the croissant dough you were working on? Should I preheat the oven?”

“I won’t be using the oven. A pan is enough.”

I rummaged through the kitchen tools. Croffles need to maintain their unique shape to look good.

Of course, there wouldn’t be a waffle pan, but there should be something with a honeycomb pattern.

Or maybe there isn’t?

As I searched, it felt like I had pulled Excalibur from a stone—I lifted a hammer.

“Found it!”

The chef’s eyes widened.

“You’re using a hammer on croissant dough?”

This wasn’t an ordinary hammer.

It was a meat tenderizer with a square, stamp-like end.

“Yes. To shape it.”

“No, if you hit it with a hammer, it won’t shape—it’ll flatten! You should use a mold instead…”

Thunk! I pressed the croissant dough firmly with the hammer.

Square patterns appeared on the flattened dough at regular intervals.

Hmm, the shape was satisfying.

“Ah! You really hit it! The croissant is ruined! We don’t have time—are you going to redo the dough?!”

The chef grabbed his head in panic.

“No need to remake it.”

“You’re going to serve a failed dish to His Highness? As the head of the kitchen, I can’t just let this happen!”

“Don’t worry. It’s intentional. This way it’ll taste better.”

“But it looks awful! How can that be tasty?”

The chef stomped like an angry bull, blowing his nose in frustration.

I had to calm him down.

“Think about it. The dough is flat, but the croissant’s characteristic layers remain inside. What will happen if we bake it like this?”

“They’ll cook through, right? Ah!”

The chef paused as if he’d realized something.

“Exactly. The inside of a croissant is soft, right? But this way, both the outside and inside become crispy! The compote will make up for the lost softness.”

All that was left was to bake it evenly on a well-heated pan.

The pressed white dough gradually turned a lovely golden brown.

The nutty aroma of melted butter wafted beyond the kitchen, filling the mansion.

What a dangerously tempting smell!

I took the croffles with golden-brown edges out and plated them.

Finished off with a sprinkle of powdered sugar.

Grated brown cheese, honey, and the cooled compote on top—done!

Once the plating was complete, I covered it with a lid.

The chef who had been watching spoke.

“It looked smashed and ugly, but the finished product looks fine.”

“It’s not just the appearance. It tastes great too.”

“Let’s see…”

He took a bite of the remaining croffle, and his eyes widened.

“Oh… I see! So this was the big picture! I should try it with the compote too… Ahem!”

Though I was curious about his reaction, there was a more important matter.

“It’s finished!”

Hena, who was waiting, came over.

“Are you ready? I’ll serve it.”

“No, I’ll serve it myself. I want to explain it and see Raphael’s reaction!”

When I lifted the silver tray with the food, the chef jumped in surprise.

“Eh? You’re not using this?”

He pointed at the sugar syrup he had carefully melted.

“I’ll use that elsewhere in a bit. I’ll be back soon!”

“Ta-da!”

I dramatically removed the lid from the silver tray.

Raphael’s expression didn’t change at all.

“So all your confidence was for just a dessert?”

“It’s a dessert on a whole different level from what you usually have. Eat it with the sauce on top.”

“You have a way with words.”

He scoffed and cut the croffle into bite-sized pieces.

Snap! The compressed layers of pastry separated neatly.

He placed some compote, still holding the shape of blueberries, on the croffle and brought it to his mouth.

As he moved his jaw, his hand twitched slightly.

I couldn’t resist and asked first.

“How is it?”

He paused briefly, swallowed, and opened his mouth.

“Not good.”

Really? Seriously?

There’s no way he would lie about my food!

My heart sank in shock.

I forced my frozen lips to speak.

“Come on, be honest. You don’t think it’s good, do you?”

“No, it’s really not good.”

“Really bad?”

“Yes.”

Confirmed. No lies. That had to be the truth.

I lost the bet with Raphael. I’d be the ghost in the studio now.

It was more shocking to hear “it’s bad” than to force myself to paint.

‘What went wrong?’

The recipe was perfect.

I couldn’t believe anyone could call my cooking bad.

‘Unbelievable!’

My pride felt chipped away in real time.

Raphael, unaware of my feelings, muttered to himself.

“The blueberry aroma is too strong. It feels like I shoved perfume in my nose.”

I deliberately worked on the aroma because he couldn’t smell well!

“The sauce is soft, and the bread is crispy, but why do the textures feel so separate? It doesn’t even feel like bread… not a cookie either. What is this thing?”

Wait, wait a second.

“The sourness lingers in my mouth.”

“……”

“And the butter aroma is too strong. It’s fighting with the blueberry.”

He kept complaining, cutting, chewing, swallowing, and moving busily.

He even scraped the remaining croffle to get every bit of sauce.

Having cleared his plate so cleanly that no washing was needed, he said:

“It was really a terrible dish. Not worth evaluating.”

“……Excuse me.”

Does he even have a conscience?

I didn’t say anything further.

Instead, I stared at him, dumbfounded at how his mouth and tongue seemed to be working separately.

“……”

“……”

The restaurant fell into a quiet silence.

“You have… crumbs on your mouth.”

He quickly wiped around his mouth.

His ears blushed slightly as he glanced at the plate.

Then bang! He hit the table with an innocent fist.

“Clear this.”

What?! So honest yet so stubborn.