45. The Restaurant and the Woman

Leaving the vicinity of Arasaka Academy, Carl did not walk very far before spotting a restaurant by the roadside. Considering the time, Carl decided to have his lunch right here.

Located in the downtown area, this restaurant was quite small, covering an area of only about fifty square meters. There were four scattered customers sitting inside, while the number of staff was also minimal—only two people in total, counting the busy chef behind the counter and the moving waiter.

"Welcome! Please take a seat anywhere you like, just call me whenever you are ready to order."

The busy male waiter briefly paused to greet Carl and pointed toward the empty seats in the shop.

"Alright, I'll call you when I'm ready."

Watching the waiter quickly scurry back to his duties after receiving a response, Carl couldn't quite understand why the waiter was so busy when there were so few customers in the shop.

Even with only one person, it shouldn't be this hectic, right?

Based on Carl's understanding of the catering industry, a single waiter should be able to handle around four to six customers simultaneously, and a skilled waiter could push that number to ten. Including himself, there were only five customers in this establishment. Even if this waiter were a novice, he ought to be able to manage, shouldn't he?

Besides, the data Carl was using for comparison came from his own past era. In the catering establishments of 2075, most food items were composed of pre-made or semi-finished ingredients. Such things were just tossed into a microwave to heat up and then mixed together—did they really warrant this level of busyness?

Just as Carl was thinking this while taking his seat, he heard a distinct frying sound.

With a sizzle, the rich aroma of diffusing fats drifted past Carl's nose on the slow-moving breeze from the air conditioner.

Carl took a sniff, and his eyes lit up.

*As expected of a downtown restaurant, they actually bother to cook from scratch here, and this oil... what quality!*

An answer already formed in Carl's mind.

*Butter.*

It was butter—real butter, not the artificial kind, but solid fat genuinely processed from cow's milk.

How could Carl be so sure? Naturally, because he used to frequently fry steaks himself, and he always chose blocks of real butter.

He still remembered the kitchen instructions he had read regarding frying steaks with butter: butter should not be allowed to melt completely before dropping the steak in, because butter has a relatively low melting point and easily leaves charred marks on the meat. Therefore, one had to seize the exact moment, using a fork to disperse the butter when it was half-melted, before placing the steak into the pan to fry.

Although Carl's steak-cooking skills were somewhat lacking, with the level of doneness varying every time, he had firmly memorized the scent of butter. He could easily distinguish the difference between it and margarine just by a single sniff.

Food made with real butter naturally piqued one's curiosity.

Carl sat down and scanned the table, but failed to find any ordering terminal.

No wonder the waiter told me to call him if I wanted to order. This place is genuinely old-school, lacking even an ordering system. Such things were already quite rare back in the downtown of his old era.

However...

You didn't even give me a menu...

How am I supposed to know what I want to eat?

Butter was generally used in Western cuisine, so Carl could guess roughly what kind of food this restaurant served, but with so many types of Western cuisine, heaven knows whether it was British, French, or Italian.

If it were a French or Italian restaurant, that would obviously be best, but if it were British food... well, that would actually still be okay.

Compared to the unpalatable food items in Night City, Carl felt that the "Stargazy Pie" he used to hear people mock so often seemed remarkably delicious.

Carl understood that in a downtown area like this, eating real meat was out of the question, but since they were using real butter... he could at least look forward to the vegetarian dishes, right?

Just as Carl's thoughts were spinning rapidly in his mind, the busy waiter finally realized he hadn't placed a menu in front of Carl. He rushed over with apologies, handing him a menu made of material somewhere between plastic and paper.

Upon opening the menu, a pleasant surprise welled up in Carl's heart.

*Jackpot!*

Although it was neither French nor Italian cuisine—the top two culinary traditions in Europe—at least it wasn't British food.

This restaurant was a Spanish eatery.

In Carl's mind, Spanish cuisine ranked just below French and Italian cuisine.

*Hehehehe~*

If it tastes good, next time I'll have to bring Oliver and Jack along to eat here.

Carl browsed the food on the menu, and every single dish was priced steeply, with the cheapest starting above 70 eddies.

Considering this was downtown and the restaurant used real butter, perhaps the price was actually considered cheap.

Carl's gaze naturally landed first on paella, known as one of the three major delicacies of Western cuisine, sitting alongside pasta and French escargot. However, after glancing at the type of meat specified on the menu, Carl decisively ruled out this famous dish.

Synthetic squid, synthetic oysters, synthetic shrimp—what on earth were these things? Were those meant for human consumption?

It seemed meat dishes were completely untouchable.

After sweeping his gaze across the options, Carl quickly locked onto food he could accept.

Potato omelet, 70 eddies. Description: synthetic eggs, potato starch.

Carl had eaten synthetic eggs before; the taste was passable. Although there was a strange chemical aftertaste, it fell within an acceptable range. This dish was an absolute must-order. Let's start with two portions, and then...

Cream of mushroom soup, 150 eddies. Description: real cream, growth-chamber mushrooms, comes with a complimentary two-hundred-gram wheat white bread roll.

Real cream!

No wonder they dared to charge 150 eddies.

There was nothing particularly strange about growth-chamber mushrooms. The raw materials for synthetic vegetables were mostly algae, and in the damp cultivation environment of algae, sprouting a few mushrooms as a byproduct for corporate profit was only natural. As for mushrooms grown in such an environment, Carl's attitude was... as long as it doesn't kill you, it's fine.

Carl called over the waiter, stated his requests, and along the way bought a can of sweet tea from the restaurant's only non-old-school vending machine. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a new customer entering the establishment.

The newcomer was a white-and-pink-haired woman in her early twenties, wearing red eye shadow and a crop top. Her appearance was quite pretty, but her expression was intensely cold, as if everyone owed her money.

Carl merely glanced at her and withdrew his gaze.

Didn't know her.

Then there was no need to care.

In 2075, where plastic surgery was freely available, Carl had seen plenty of pretty faces. He had even embraced an unaltered, completely unmodified girl just days ago; a woman like this simply wasn't worth pausing his gaze for.

Compared to looking at a pretty woman, he was far more expectant of his cream of mushroom soup and potato omelet.

Just how delicious would they be? Should he go ahead and reserve some now to take back to Jack, Oliver, and Vic tonight...?