Chapter 6

“Shit! You guys!”

Georges threw off his chef’s hat and scratched his short, steeplejack hair.

Some of the chickens that had been pecking at their food flapped their wings and flew away due to the throbbing display of Montaigne swearing.

Here in the Kingdom of Luden, unlike his homeland, lunch was kept simple.

Once the hectic breakfast was over, even the head chef was allowed free time until he started preparing the dinner, and that’s why Georges could also sell oil in the chicken coop.

— And, incidentally, overhear his subordinates talking behind his back.

“Who’s perched high? You’re too low. Old people? Don’t make me laugh; I’m still a forty-something-year-old man!’”

He could shake a frying pan for more than ten hours a day and slam his strong arms against a pillar.

Montaigne’s beard, the requisite of a Montaigne man, and his rugged physique, which in his homeland had helped to keep his name out of the public eye, which seemed meaningless in the rude Kingdom of Luden.

Georges Ramadier.

He was the head chef from Montaigne, the land of love and good food, invited by the first prince, Felix, on a mission.

That was him.

But in reality, everyone is smugly aware that he had only ‘fallen into the capital’ because he had lost the race for power in the kitchens of his homeland.

Otherwise, even though Luden was the most developed country on the continent, there was no reason for chefs to leave the gastronomic capital of Montaigne.

Luden is a rigid country with excellent military prowess.

It is also a backward-looking country in terms of its culinary culture.

Nevertheless, the reason he accepted the pullout with the intention of biting down on a bitter worm was because of his pride in wanting to maintain his title of court chef.

But ever since entering the royal castle last month, Georges’ pride and calculations had already been torn to pieces many times.

First of all, the duties were too different.

In his homeland, the head chef of the court was responsible for providing gastronomic delights for the nobility.

But here, he was not only responsible for feeding the royalty but also for overseeing the preparation of meals for the menial staff.

The kitchen was not well-equipped.

The workforce was inadequate.

The freshness of the food was okay, but the cooking techniques seem to have stopped in primitive times.

He ate potatoes that were simply steamed and sprinkled with salt or bread that was too salty and stuffed with sausage as a “meal” seemed like an outrage to Georges.

The culture of tea was brought in from Rutland by the queen, so it was better.

At the end of the day, Prince Felix, the man who brought him in, is known as the “Prince of Folly” in Luden.

Thanks to this, no one will follow Georges as he tries to gather all the motivation to make a change in the kitchen.

“The maid’s meals are better than my food…!”

He was frustrated.

Essentially, the position of a head chef is equivalent to that of a nobleman.

To help them overcome their status difference and understand the greatness of his skills, he prepared good food for the menial workers.

Georges, the head chef himself, held the knife and cooked more than 300 meals intending to teach them the true meaning of food culture.

Despite this, they neither appreciated nor were impressed by the delicacy of the food they had prepared with great care, but instead began to say things like, “It’s not as good as it sounds,” and “The food cooked by the new maid is better than this.”

It was an unacceptable situation at this point.

“The handmaiden… new handmaiden… is Elma, right?”

If this were the motherland, it would scourge insolence to step into the kitchen in the body of a woman.

An impure woman should not approach the sacred fire hearth.

The culture of love for women and the spirit of despising women existed in Georges without contradiction.

The girl, Erma, was a good friend of the head maid, the baroness, who served as nanny to the second prince and is said to be a good friend of the second prince, who is reputed to be a handsome man.

An important role, filling the stomach of the noble. A sacred workplace.

A senseless brat who trampled it down with her feet, that was her.

She had no intention of putting Georges down because she was a woman and child.

Rather, it was precisely because he was of a lower rank than he, as a grown man and head chef, felt he had to properly guide her and correct her mistakes.

“… One, let’s wrap this up…”

Georges glared at the chicken, which made a ridiculous clucking noise and grabbed it roughly by the neck to make soup stock.