Restaurant and Woman
After leaving Arasaka Academy, Karl didn't walk far before spotting a small restaurant by the roadside. Considering the time, he decided to have lunch there.
The restaurant, located in the city center, was modest, covering about fifty square meters. Inside, only four customers were scattered around, and the staff was equally sparse. Between the busy chefs behind the counter and the lone waiter moving briskly, there were only two employees in total.
"Welcome, sir. You can sit wherever you like. Just call me if you need to order," the male waiter said, momentarily pausing his hurried movements to greet Karl and gesture to the empty seats.
"Alright, I'll call you when I'm ready to order," Karl replied, observing the waiter as he rushed off again. He found it puzzling that the waiter seemed so busy despite the few patrons.
Based on Karl's understanding of the restaurant industry, a single waiter could typically manage 4-6 guests simultaneously, with skilled waiters handling up to ten. Given that there were only five customers, including himself, the waiter's frantic pace seemed unnecessary.
Moreover, in 2075, most restaurant meals consisted of pre-made and semi-finished products, merely needing heating and assembly. So why the rush?
As Karl sat down, he heard the unmistakable sound of frying. The 'sizzling' sound, accompanied by the rich aroma of cooking oil, wafted through the air-conditioned space, reaching Karl's nose.
His eyes lit up as he recognized the scent. 'This restaurant is legitimate, cooking with such high-quality oil!'
The aroma was unmistakably butter—real butter, not artificial. It was made from genuine milk, which Karl could discern due to his own experience frying steaks in butter. He remembered reading in a cookbook that butter shouldn't be fully melted before adding the steak, as its low melting point could easily burn the meat. Timing was crucial, stirring the butter just before adding the steak.
Though Karl's steaks weren't always perfectly cooked, he could distinguish the scent of butter from margarine. Real butter had an unmistakable allure.
Settling into his seat, Karl glanced at the table but didn't find an ordering device. No wonder the waiter mentioned calling him to order—the place was old-fashioned, lacking modern ordering systems, a rarity in the city center.
However, there wasn't even a menu in sight.
How was he supposed to know what to order?
Butter was typically used in Western cuisine, so Karl deduced that this restaurant likely served Western dishes. But with so many varieties—British, French, Italian—who could tell?
If it were French or Italian, that would be ideal, but even British cuisine would be acceptable compared to Night City's typical fare. Despite its reputation, Karl often heard others rave about the "starry sky pie."
Though he didn't expect real meat in a city center restaurant, the use of real butter raised his hopes for quality vegetarian dishes.
Lost in thought, Karl noticed the waiter returning with an apology, placing a menu made of a material between plastic and paper in front of him.
Opening the menu, Karl was pleasantly surprised. 'Jackpot!'
It wasn't French or Italian, but thankfully not British either—it was a Spanish restaurant.
In Karl's ranking, Spanish cuisine was just below French and Italian.
'Hehehehehe~'
If the food was good, he'd bring Oliver and Jack next time.
Glancing through the menu, Karl noted the steep prices, with the cheapest dish over 70 euros. Given the location and the use of real butter, the pricing seemed justified.
Karl's eyes first landed on paella, a Western classic alongside pasta and escargots. But after seeing the synthetic seafood listed, he promptly decided against it.
Synthetic squid, oysters, and shrimp weren't appealing. He preferred to avoid them entirely.
Karl's attention shifted to more acceptable options:
Potato Omelette, 70 euros: labeled with synthetic eggs and potato starch. He had tried synthetic eggs before, and though they had a peculiar chemical taste, they were tolerable. This dish was a must-order—two servings to start.
Cream of Mushroom Soup, 150 euros: labeled with real cream and mushrooms from a cultivation room, served with 200 grams of wheat white bread. The real cream justified the price. Mushrooms from a cultivation room weren't uncommon, as algae-based synthetic vegetables often produced mushrooms in humid environments. Karl was indifferent as long as they weren't harmful.
Karl called the waiter, placed his order, and grabbed a can of sweet tea from the store's only non-vintage vending machine. Then, he noticed a new customer entering.
The new patron was a woman in her twenties with short white hair, red eyeshadow, and a cropped outfit. She was attractive, but her cold expression suggested she wasn't in a friendly mood.
Karl glanced at her briefly before looking away. He didn't know her, so there was no need to pay her any more attention.
In 2075, where cosmetic surgery was common, Karl had seen many beautiful people. Just days ago, he had embraced someone natural and unmodified. This woman wasn't remarkable enough to hold his gaze.
Karl was more interested in his impending meal—cream of mushroom soup and potato omelette. He could hardly wait to see how delicious they'd be. Perhaps he should make a reservation now to bring some back for Jack, Oliver, and victor in the evening.
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