The LC-02 slowly approached the uniquely shaped ship.
It looked like a giant pair of scissors floating on the sea, its hull painted in striking red and white. The large characters "Baratie" gleamed under the sunlight.
Even from a distance, an enticing aroma drifted through the air, the scent of grilled meat, rich stews, and freshly baked bread.
Potts couldn't help swallowing a mouthful of saliva before glancing at Renzo.
At some point, the Commodore had already sat up, half-squinting like a cat that had caught a whiff of something delicious, eyes fixed on the ship ahead.
"This is the place, right?" Potts confirmed.
"Mm." Renzo's reply was brief, all his attention was on the smell.
"Get closer."
Potts skillfully steered the wheel, bringing the LC-02 toward Baratie's docking area.
The nearer they got, the stronger the aroma became. Renzo's stomach growled audibly.
Just then, shouting could be heard from Baratie's deck.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Patty!"
"You've got to control the heat when cooking steak!"
"Look at this mess! It's an insult to the ingredient!"
A blond young man was yelling at a fat chef. He wore a neat chef's uniform, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his brow tightly furrowed.
"You brat, what do you know? This gives it more chew!"
Patty, the fat chef, snapped back angrily.
"Chew? It's basically leather!"
The blond youth snatched the frying pan from his hands.
"Watch carefully. Overcooking it past thirty seconds is a sin against the meat!"
Renzo's eyes lit up.
Even from a distance, he could tell the blond youth's cooking technique was precise and fluid, the way he flipped the steak was effortless, and his control of heat, flawless.
"That's the one," Renzo murmured, his tone carrying rare approval.
As soon as Potts docked the ship and tied the ropes, Renzo stepped onto Baratie's deck.
Ignoring the still-bickering chefs, he headed straight into the restaurant.
Inside, Baratie was even larger than it appeared from the outside.
The dining area was bustling with customers. Waiters weaved between tables carrying trays, and the air was thick with the mouthwatering blend of countless dishes.
Renzo took a deep breath, eyes narrowing in satisfaction.
"Welcome to Baratie!"
A smiling waiter approached.
"How many guests?"
"Two," Renzo replied curtly.
"A quiet seat."
The waiter led them to a window-side corner.
Renzo sat down and picked up the menu. His eyes scanned quickly across the items before stopping at the Chef's Special of the Day.
"One special set meal, and add this, this, and this."
He pointed to a few more dishes.
"For dessert, a chocolate lava cake, freshly made."
The waiter jotted it down and was about to leave when Renzo added, "Tell the kitchen, if the blond chef makes it, I'll pay thirty percent extra."
The waiter blinked, then nodded and left.
While waiting, Renzo leaned back, observing the restaurant's operation.
From the kitchen came the rhythmic sounds of chopping, the sizzle of frying, and the commanding voice of that same blond youth.
"Idiot! Who told you to add that many spices to the soup? You've killed the flavor!"
"The pasta's been sitting for three minutes, redo it!"
"Seafood must be fresh, how many times do I have to say it?!"
A faint smile tugged at Renzo's lips.
That kind of passion and discipline in cooking, that's exactly what he was looking for.
Not long after, the waiter returned with the food.
When the lids were lifted, Renzo's eyes slightly widened.
The steak's surface glistened with a perfect golden-brown crust; the juices were sealed in, and the side dishes were plated like artwork.
The seafood soup shimmered invitingly, its aroma a delicate harmony of spices.
Even the simple salad looked remarkably crisp and fresh.
Renzo picked up his fork and knife, cutting a small piece of steak and tasting it.
The meat was tender and juicy, cooked to perfection. The seasoning balanced perfectly, enhancing the natural flavor of the beef.
He then tasted the soup, the flavors were layered and complex, every ingredient distinct yet harmoniously blended.
"Not bad," he murmured, a rare compliment, and began eating noticeably faster.
When the chocolate lava cake arrived, Renzo gently tapped it with his spoon. Warm molten chocolate flowed out from the center.
He took a bite, closed his eyes, and savored it.
The soft cake and rich chocolate intertwined beautifully, the sweetness perfectly balanced.
After the final bite, Renzo sighed in satisfaction. It was easily the best meal he'd had since setting out to sea.
"Check, please," he said to the waiter.
"And I'd like to meet the chef."
Moments later, the blond youth walked out of the kitchen, still holding a spoon, clearly pulled straight from work.
"I'm Sanji. I heard you wanted to see me?"
He spoke politely, sizing Renzo up. "Were the dishes to your liking?"
Renzo met his eyes directly. "Very much so. Would you like to be my personal chef?"
Sanji blinked, then chuckled. "Sorry, sir. I'm doing fine here at Baratie, I've no plans to leave."
"I'll pay triple your current salary," Renzo said. "No budget limits for ingredients, you can create whatever you want. Also," he added,
"We're headed for Warmywavem Island, said to have the world's finest fruits and hot springs."
Sanji's expression flickered with interest, but he quickly regained composure. "Tempting offer, but I can't leave Baratie. Chef Zeff took me in. This place is my home."
Renzo wasn't discouraged; he had expected that.
He pulled a worn treasure map from his pocket and spread it on the table.
"Take a look."
"Warmywave Island isn't just famous for its springs. It grows ingredients unseen anywhere else."
"Imagine creating entirely new dishes with them…"
Sanji's gaze unconsciously drifted to the map.
As a chef, curiosity for new ingredients was instinctive. His fingers brushed his chin, lost in thought.
Just then, a commotion broke out at the restaurant entrance.
A group of rough-looking men barged in, shouting for the best food and wine.
Sanji's brow furrowed. "Excuse me, I'll handle this."
Renzo nodded, watching as Sanji approached the group.
He could tell Sanji wasn't just skilled in cooking, he also knew how to manage conflict: firm, polite, and unflinching.
"We'll be staying here for a few days," Renzo told him when Sanji returned. "Take your time to think it over."
Sanji gave him a thoughtful look, then nodded. "I'll consider it. But for now, I've got to get back to the kitchen, there's a banquet tonight."
Renzo watched him leave, then turned to Potts. "Find us a place to stay. We might be here a while."
Potts stared in surprise.
'The Commodore, who usually hated staying in one place for long, was willing to wait, for a chef?'
"Yes, sir," Potts replied quickly. "I'll make arrangements."
Renzo leaned back, gazing at the glimmering sea outside.
The sunset painted Baratie in shades of gold. The sounds of a busy kitchen filled the air, the aroma of food lingering like a comforting spell.
For once, Renzo felt no impatience.
'Finding a good chef was worth the wait.'
He closed his eyes, letting the peace and the smell of dinner, lull him into quiet contentment.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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