Chương 117: Daniel's Counterstrike, a Collision of Philosophies

With only a final week left before Secret-Menu Night, the mood in the kitchen grew tenser and tenser. Everyone knew this would be a duel that decided the fates of two men. The winner would rocket upward; the loser might well go dark for a long time. Daniel was in the best form of his life. He gave off an aura of a man determined to win. Since getting this chance, he'd all but lived in the kitchen. He no longer paid Chris any attention, sinking completely into his own world.

That day, the dish he'd designed was finally revealed in the kitchen. It was a lavish, exquisite French Blue Lobster with Citrus Foam and Saffron Gelée. He'd chosen top-grade blue lobster air-freighted from Brittany, cooked in the most classic manner, the meat holding a perfect spring and sweetness.

The citrus foam alongside was light and fragrant, and the saffron gelée sat like rubies scattered across the white plate — not only a visual jolt but a note of nobility in the aroma and a thread of freshness on the palate. From the choice of ingredient to the deployment of technique to the aesthetics of the plating, the dish fit Le Château's style completely: classic, elegant, flawless. When Daniel carried out his test plate, a low ripple of admiration ran through the kitchen. Chris saw it too.

He didn't even need the system to analyze it — just the smell alone, that blend of ocean brine and citrus brightness, told him this was a very strong dish. He opened the Flavor Atlas out of instinct. [Dish: French Blue Lobster with Citrus Foam and Saffron Gelée] [Estimated flavor completion: 93–95%] An extremely high score. It meant Daniel had taken what he did best to near-perfection. The dish was like an aristocrat in a magnificent gown, poised and elegant.

It didn't need to speak; standing there was enough to command respect. And his own plate of potato… For the first time, Chris felt a flicker of doubt about his choice. Fighting blue lobster with potato — it sounded like a joke. Had he really been too stubborn? If, for the sake of some "conviction," he lost this all-important duel, was it worth it? Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. As if he'd read Chris's hesitation, Daniel carried his plate over of his own accord.

He set the exquisite blue lobster down on Chris's counter, right beside Chris's heap of potato stock. Expensive blue lobster and cheap potato formed a jarring contrast.

"Well, White?" There was a needle of provocation in Daniel's tone." This is the kind of dish Le Château should serve. This is the standard of a three-star kitchen." Chris said nothing.

"I admit, you won with potato in the Burning Kitchen finale. That was impressive," Daniel went on.

"But this isn't a TV reality show. This is Le Château. Here, the grades of ingredients are real. You're going to fight my hundred-dollar blue lobster with a plate of potatoes? You're not showing off your technique — you're insulting this kitchen. Insulting Chef Vincent's standard." The other chefs had gathered around; the air went taut as a drawn bow. Chris looked at the blue lobster before him, then down at the dirt-flecked potato in his own hand.

Daniel's words were like a knife, every line jabbing at his sore spot. Was he really insulting this place? He'd come to Le Château to learn its finest technique — surely not to prove that its standard was wrong? No. That wasn't it. Vincent's face suddenly flashed through Chris's mind. He remembered that Vincent had summoned him not because he could make some flashy grand dish, but because he'd won a championship with potato.

What Vincent wanted to see was surely not another Daniel who could cook blue lobster — but the Chris White who could work wonders with a potato. And he remembered Philip's words: a power that makes people go quiet. Daniel's blue lobster was beautiful, stunning — and loud. With its costly price tag and its intricate technique, it announced to the diner at full volume: I am high-class. Come and praise me. What Chris wanted to do was the exact opposite.

He wanted people, tasting his potato, to forget it was a potato, forget they were in a three-star restaurant, forget all the standards and all the judging. He wanted them, in that single instant, to return to food's most essential, most consoling side. That was the cooking he was after. At the thought, the doubt and fog in Chris's chest swept clean away. His eyes turned clear and firm again. He lifted his head, looked at Daniel, and said calmly:"Your dish is beautiful, Daniel. Truly. It's a perfect work of art."

"But—" he picked up the potato in his hand and weighed it lightly, "—I don't need blue lobster to prove myself. My battlefield is right here." He wasn't goaded by Daniel, and he didn't try to argue anything. He was simply stating a fact — a cooking philosophy that was his own, and his alone. Daniel froze. He'd prepared a pile of mockery, braced himself for Chris's anger or rebuttal. He hadn't expected this response. In Chris's eyes he saw a calm and a confidence he couldn't understand.

A confidence built not on the worth of an ingredient, but on an absolute certainty about his own road. In that moment, Daniel suddenly felt that his own gorgeous blue lobster, standing before the humble potato in Chris's hand, seemed… a little unsure of itself. Chris paid him no more attention, turned back, and went on handling his ingredients. He knew that he and Daniel represented two completely different philosophies of cooking. This duel had no right and wrong — only a choice. And he had already made his.

Now, all he needed was to find the last piece of the puzzle: that power that could make people go quiet.