The Chef's Unemployment Crisis, the Richest Man's "Post-Traumatic Anorexi

The morning sunlight streamed through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the spacious dining room of the Jiang family mansion.

A three-meter-long dining table is placed across the center of the restaurant.

This is the fixed stage for Jiang Jianguo, the richest man in Beijing, to start his new life every day.

But today, this business tycoon was clearly not in a good mood.

He sat in the main seat with faint dark circles under his eyes, his expression revealing a weariness that was hard to hide.

Last night, every time I closed my eyes, all I could think about was that golden orange and its irresistible aroma.

He even licked that celadon plate again in his dream.

When I woke up in the morning, there was a small, suspicious water stain on my pillow, which was quite shameful.

Jiang Jianguo took a deep breath, forcibly shaking off the lingering images of everyday life from his mind.

"Hmph, it's just a hallucination caused by extreme hunger."

He snorted inwardly, trying his best to maintain the demeanor of the head of the household.

"Today I'm going to remind my stomach and intestines what true high-end taste really is."

Accompanied by a soft clatter of leather shoes.

Pierre, the Michelin three-star chef hired at a high salary, walked into the restaurant with two assistants.

Pierre was dressed in a snow-white chef's uniform and wore a tall chef's hat, his expression revealing the pride of a top craftsman.

"Chairman, Madam, Miss, good morning."

Pierre, speaking in broken Chinese, bowed respectfully.

Then, he placed the heavy plate steadily in front of Jiang Jianguo.

Lift the silver, hemispherical heat-insulating cover.

A faint scent of the ocean mixed with a strange mushroom aroma instantly filled the air.

Steamed king crab with white truffle.

This is Jiang Jianguo's favorite breakfast, and it's also Pierre's specialty.

In the center of the plate are two thick, plump pieces of premium king crab leg meat.

The crab meat was peeled clean and intact, revealing an enticing pinkish-white color.

Wearing white gloves, Pierre carefully took out a whole, expensive white truffle from a temperature-controlled box held by his assistant.

He took a specially made scraper and gently scraped above the crab legs.

Thin slices of white truffle, exuding a blend of earthy and oaky aromas, drifted down like snowflakes.

It is precisely coated onto the warm crab meat.

The few truffles sprinkled on top alone are worth several months' salary for an average person.

Jiang Jianguo looked at the familiar, expensive breakfast in front of him.

For some reason, the sense of anticipation he had expected did not materialize.

On the contrary, the strong truffle aroma seemed somewhat deliberate and pungent when it entered my nasal cavity.

But he didn't show it.

He needed this dish to defeat the young chef who had ravaged his taste buds last night.

He wanted to prove to himself that Michelin-starred skills bought with money were the only ones that were truly impeccable.

Jiang Jianguo picked up a napkin and skillfully placed it under his collar.

Then he picked up the heavy silver fork.

Gently insert the needle into the succulent king crab leg meat.

It feels great to the touch, and the meat is firm and elastic.

He could even imagine that Pierre had locked in the moisture by slow cooking at a temperature accurate to 0.1 degrees Celsius.

Jiang Jianguo opened his mouth and put the expensive crab meat, coated with white truffle, into his mouth.

Close your eyes.

Gently close your upper and lower teeth.

The first chew.

His brow twitched slightly.

The second chew.

The wrinkles between his brows instantly tightened, forming a deep knot.

What happened?

This feeling... is so wrong.

This was clearly a top-notch delicacy that he had eaten countless times and praised endlessly.

But why is eating it today such a disastrous experience?

The crab meat was indeed very tender, but that was all it was—tender.

While slow cooking at low temperatures locks in moisture, it also destroys the natural freshness deep within the seafood.

It tastes like chewing on a moist eraser.

That unique aroma, far from blending with the taste of the crab meat, was not present.

Instead, it's like an intruder forcibly barging in, rampaging through the mouth.

Jiang Jianguo's Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.

The image of crab-stuffed orange from last night kept replaying in his mind.

The fruit acids oozing from the orange peel cleverly neutralized the richness of the crab roe.

The aroma of aged Shaoxing wine perfectly stitches together all the flavors.

It was a living dish, carrying the warmth of everyday life and the smoky aroma of a wok that struck right to the soul.

Without comparison, there is no harm.

After tasting that ancient cooking method that was like an art form.

Then eat this expensive meal in front of you, which is entirely built upon precise instruments and rigid data.

Jiang Jianguo felt as if he were chewing on a piece of cardboard soaked in Hextech!

It's hard to swallow.

An unnamed anger surged from his slightly bloated stomach straight to his head.

It's not just because the dish tastes bad.

Even more painfully, he discovered that his taste buds had actually been completely spoiled by that brat who ran a run-down restaurant!

His prized high quality of life became a huge joke at that moment.

"Snapped!"

A sharp, piercing explosion suddenly echoed through the restaurant.

Jiang Jianguo slammed the silver fork in his hand heavily onto the plate.

The sharp tip of the fork scraped against the edge of the plate with a harsh, screeching sound.

Jiang Ruoyun, who was sitting at the table, was startled and almost dropped the toast with butter in her hand.

Even the butler, who was standing by waiting, subconsciously tensed up.

"What kind of crap is this?!"

Jiang Jianguo pointed at the expensive plate of king crab, his chest heaving violently, and roared in fury.

Pierre was stunned by this sudden outburst of anger.

The usually arrogant French chef was now deathly pale, and his legs were trembling.

"Chairman... this is your favorite..." he stammered, trying to explain.

"I like it my ass!"

Jiang Jianguo rudely interrupted him, his voice so loud that the glass windows trembled slightly.

He found a perfect outlet, venting all the frustration he had suffered the previous night onto this dish.

"Look at this cooking! It's completely stagnant, as old as tree bark!"

"And this seasoning! It's as rigid as a heartless machine!"

"Truffles are truffles, and crabs are crabs; they're completely going their separate ways!"

Jiang Jianguo became increasingly agitated as he cursed, his hands braced on the table, spitting everywhere.

"It has absolutely no soul! Not a trace of wok hei (the smoky aroma imparted by a hot wok)!"

"With this kind of attention-seeking, shoddy skill, they dare to call themselves Michelin three stars?"

"Let me tell you, your cooking skills aren't even as good as those cheap, hole-in-the-wall restaurants!"

He practically squeezed those last words out through gritted teeth.

The moment the words left his mouth, Jiang Jianguo had no idea what he had said.

He felt a little better after venting his anger.

"Take it away! Take it away right now! Redo it!"

He waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away an annoying fly.

Pierre was so frightened that his eyes turned red.

He has worked in the industry for twenty years and won numerous international awards. When has he ever suffered such injustice?

But he didn't dare to utter a word in rebuttal, and hurriedly picked up the heavy plate.

With two equally apprehensive deputies, he fled back to the kitchen as if escaping.

The large restaurant fell silent once again.

Only the central air conditioning vents emitted a faint "whooshing" sound.

Jiang Ruoyun sat diagonally opposite Jiang Jianguo.

This female CEO, who is usually aloof and capable at the company, is currently biting into half a piece of toast.

Her beautiful peach blossom eyes were filled with bewilderment and incomprehension.

She glanced towards the kitchen, then at her father, who had suddenly gone mad like a tyrant.

"Dad, are you alright?"

Jiang Ruoyun mumbled indistinctly, her brows slightly furrowed.

"Chef Pierre's skill level has always been consistent; these truffles were just flown in last night."

"Did you not sleep well last night? Are you grumpy in the morning?"

She felt that her father's reaction today was very unusual.

Even if the food doesn't suit his taste, he would at most frown and put down his chopsticks.

When did she start acting like a shrew from the streets, even using the term "fly restaurant" to curse people?

Jiang Ruoyun's gaze fell on the phone screen.

The screen was currently showing her and Lin Mo's WeChat chat.

Just thinking about the photo Lin Mo sent her last night of him kneading dough made her lips curl into a secret smile.

If Lin Mo were here, even a simple bowl of noodles he makes would be far superior to this Michelin-starred meal.

Jiang Jianguo's momentum weakened slightly after being asked this question by his daughter.

He tugged at the napkin at his collar, somewhat irritated.

"I'm fine, I just suddenly feel tired of eating this kind of Western food."

He gave a defiant snort.

"Spending so much money and not even being able to make a dish that makes people's mouths water is a waste of money."

Just as the father and daughter were talking.

Song Wan, who had been sitting silently at the other end of the long table, suddenly stirred.

A steaming cup of black coffee sat in front of her, and an open academic journal lay beside her.

She didn't even lift her head once from beginning to end.

It was as if Jiang Jianguo's outburst just now was nothing more than a trivial breeze.

Until Jiang Jianguo's words, "It's not even as good as a fly restaurant," finished echoing in the hall.

Song Wan's eyes, which had been fixed on the journal, finally shifted slightly.

Behind the lens, a sharp and extremely keen dark glint flashed.

A hole-in-the-wall restaurant?

Song Wan's lips twitched upwards in a very slight smile.

She knows her husband too well.

Jiang Jianguo is an arrogant businessman at heart, and he is very particular about appearances and status.

When I go out for business dinners, it's either a private club or a five-star hotel.

Even when inspecting branch offices, the bottled water they drink has to be a designated imported brand.

How could someone like that possibly know what "a hole-in-the-wall restaurant" tastes like?

It is even more impossible to use such colloquial and down-to-earth language as an argument to belittle Michelin chefs.

unless.

He did it recently, even just yesterday.

I personally tasted the food from a certain hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

Furthermore, the restaurant's culinary skills completely overwhelmed his existing understanding of food.

Song Wan's slender fingers gently pinched the porcelain handle of the coffee cup.

He slowly picked up the cup, brought it to his lips, and took a small sip of the bitter black coffee.

His gaze, however, drifted past the rim of the cup and landed lightly on Jiang Jianguo.

Jiang Jianguo felt a chill run down his spine from that casual glance.

He was initially feeling a sense of smug satisfaction at having taken control of the situation by reprimanding the head chef.

At this moment, he suddenly looked like a primary school student being watched by his homeroom teacher, his whole body stiffening.

He quickly replayed what he had just said in his mind.

Instantly, cold sweat broke out.

broken.

Too many words will be lost.

In his excitement, he let slip the reference point he subconsciously used for comparison.

Looking at his wife's elegant face, which seemed to be smiling but wasn't.

Jiang Jianguo guiltily avoided eye contact.

He frantically reached out and grabbed the glass of room-temperature water with lemon slices on the table.

He gulped down two mouthfuls.

He tried to use the act of drinking water to cover up his panic and unease.

Song Wan slowly put down the black coffee cup in her hand.

The bottom of the porcelain cup collided with the bone china coaster, making a very slight "click" sound.

The sound wasn't loud, but it felt like it struck Jiang Jianguo's heart.

Song Wan slightly raised her hand and waved gently at the butler who was standing in the corner, not daring to breathe.

The butler, feeling as if he had been granted a pardon, quickly and silently left the restaurant with a few servants.

He casually closed the heavy double wooden door.

Only the family of three remained in the restaurant.

Jiang Ruoyun was still carefree, munching on her toast while sending Lin Mo a good morning emoji.

Completely unaware of the subtle, dangerous change in air pressure.

Song Wan looked at her husband, whose eyes were darting away as he drank one sip of plain water after another.

The curve of his lips became more pronounced, revealing a calmness as if he had seen through everything long ago.

She did not ask any questions.

She simply and gracefully opened the drawer beside her.

He took out a brand new smartphone.

His slender fingers casually swiped across the screen twice.

I opened an app that I usually use to search for academic bookstores and occasionally check out food reviews.

The morning sunlight slanted across her phone screen.

The interface redirected, leading to a familiar page.