N-M Chapter 79 The Catering Chef
Chapter 79 The Catering Chef
Chapter 81 The Catering Chef
The smell of tobacco in the living room was rather strong, mixed with the distinctive woody and waxy aroma of the old-fashioned furniture.
The Itami family's study was larger than I had imagined, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filling all four walls. In the center was a huge solid wood table piled high with manuscripts, ashtrays, and several opened bottles of whiskey.
"You're here?"
Juzo Itami, with a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers, casually pointed to an empty seat on one side of the long table when he saw Shin Kitahara enter. "Sit wherever you like, don't be shy."
Kitahara Shin handed the sake he had brought to Miyamoto Nobuko, nodded slightly to the others present, and then pulled out a chair and sat down.
The other three people sitting around the table were all figures who could easily make headlines in the culture section of a newspaper.
The man on the left with messy hair and black-rimmed glasses is Shimada, a senior producer at Toho Films. The man opposite him, who is looking down and playing with a lighter, is Takahashi, a novelist who just won the Naoki Prize.
They are all "eccentric geniuses" in the industry, and are also known for being difficult to please.
"Is this the Kanji?"
Producer Shimada adjusted his glasses, his gaze sweeping over Kitahara Shin without any attempt to hide it. His tone wasn't sharp, but rather scrutinizing. "He's more composed than he appears on TV, unlike those frivolous young idols."
"Don't give me that, Shimada."
Itami Juzo exhaled a puff of smoke, laughed, and cursed, "This kid is much more patient than you when he's fishing. Last time I cursed him for ages by the pond, and he didn't even flinch."
A few soft laughs rippled through the crowd, and the atmosphere relaxed slightly.
The conversation quickly shifted from pleasantries to the more somber reality.
The aftershocks of the bursting bubble have already impacted the cultural industry; film budgets have been cut, publishers are rejecting manuscripts more often, and everyone is complaining about how tough times are.
"These days, investors react like they've seen a ghost when they hear the word 'depth'."
Novelist Takahashi stubbed out his cigarette, looking annoyed. "They only want to watch things that don't require any brainpower. If this continues, Japanese films will really become just extended versions of GG movies that are only for selling merchandise."
"There's nothing we can do, nobody's got any money left."
Shimada sighed, swirled the wine glass in his hand, and casually turned his gaze to Kitahara Shin, a sly glint in his eyes.
"Speaking of which, Kitahara-kun, you're currently in the eye of the storm, surrounded by those crazy fans every day. In your opinion, how long can this hype last? Or rather, once this storm passes, will these viewers still be willing to pay for entertainment works?"
After these words were spoken, the air at the table quieted down slightly.
The novelist Takahashi, standing nearby, laughed and pointed at Shimada, saying, "Hey, Shimada, aren't you being a bit unfair? Even I can't figure out these macro-market issues, and you're asking a young actor? Are you jealous because he learned from a master?"
"Yeah, you've fallen into your old habit again," Itami Juzo chimed in. "People are here to eat, not to do market research for you."
"Just ask, it's not like it'll cost you anything."
Shimada wasn't annoyed and continued to look at Kitahara Shin with a smile. "After all, he's the person closest to the audience. Sometimes, ducks are the first to know when the river warms in spring. Instead of sitting in the office looking at reports, it's better to listen to the intuition of top actors."
His words were perfectly worded, sounding both like he was making things difficult for Kitahara Nobu, and like he was giving Kitahara Nobu a chance.
If Kitahara Shin could only utter platitudes like "We want to bring dreams to the audience," then he would just be an ordinary idol. But if he could say something else—adding a "but" to this dinner party—then he would be qualified.
All eyes turned to Kitahara Shin once again.
Kitahara Shin twirled his teacup, showing no sign of panic at being suddenly "interviewed."
He smiled slightly and said calmly, "Ducks not only know whether the water will warm up, but they also know that the direction of the water flow seems to have changed."
"Oh?" Shimada raised an eyebrow. "What's changed?"
"When people had money in the past, they liked to watch stories that were far removed from their own lives, such as Hollywood heroes or the family feuds in soap operas, because at that time people felt that as long as they worked hard, they could also live that kind of life."
Kitahara Shin put down his teacup, his voice not loud, but with a sense of certainty: "But things are different now. The economy is just beginning to show signs of improvement, and people are warning that things might get worse in the future. Then they gradually realize that their efforts are useless. At this point, they no longer want to see those fictional heroes, but want to see real things, or the kind of violent aesthetics that can let them vent their emotions, or works about social phenomena that can sting their nerves."
He paused for a moment, then added, "Pure love dramas are only a temporary painkiller in this era. Once the effect wears off, audiences will need more intense stimulation. Future Japanese films will either be extremely entertaining or extremely realistic. Those that are somewhere in between, neither exciting nor uninteresting, will probably have a hard time surviving."
"This is just my humble opinion."
The study was quiet for a few seconds.
Shimada's gaze towards Kitahara Shin changed, and he dropped his nonchalant attitude.
"Extremely entertaining, extremely realistic —"
Juzo Itami repeated those words, then suddenly stubbed out his cigarette and burst into laughter: "Hahahaha! Shimada, did you hear that? He really does see things much more clearly than you! Those films of yours that try to be artistic but won't fully embrace reality deserve no investment!"
"screw you!"
Shimada chuckled and cursed, but the look in his eyes when he looked at Kitahara Shin was less disdainful of the young actor and more like the recognition he showed to "one of his own".
"Interesting." Shimada raised his glass in a gesture of appreciation. "It's this kind of topic that makes the meal more enjoyable. Come on, Kitahara-kun, let's have a drink."
Just then, there was a gentle knock on the door.
Nobuko Miyamoto pushed open the door and came in, her face looking rather grim. She walked over to Juzo Itami and whispered a few words in his ear.
"What? A car crash?"
Juzo Itami's voice rose several octaves, his brows furrowing instantly. "Is he alright? — It's good that he's alright, but if he doesn't come over, what will everyone in this room eat? Drink air?"
It turns out that the French chef who was supposed to come to the restaurant for a private banquet was involved in a chain-reaction collision on his way. Although he was not injured, he was detained by the traffic police to deal with the accident and would definitely miss the trip.
"How about we order takeout?" Nobuko Miyamoto suggested hesitantly. "There's a good sushi restaurant nearby."
"Looks like this is the only way. What bad luck—"
Juzo Itami was an extremely picky eater, and his mood was now mostly ruined. He irritably stubbed out his cigarette.
Kitahara Shin checked the time, stood up, and casually unbuttoned his wool cardigan.
"If you don't mind, shall I give it a try?"
Juzo Itami paused for a moment, then waved his hand: "Stop joking, there are several mouths to feed here, and these guys are very picky eaters, you can't handle them all."
He thought Kitahara Shin was just being polite, or trying to ease the awkwardness.
"Itami-san, didn't you ask me to come and show off my skills?"
Hearing this, Itami Juzo paused, then said helplessly, "I was just joking."
"Then I'll let them give it a try, okay?"
Kitahara Shin smiled and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his smooth forearms. "Since waiting for takeout takes time anyway, how about I make a couple of appetizers for you guys to have a bite to eat? If they're not good, the sushi should arrive by then."
19
Seeing his certainty, Miyamoto Nobuko was somewhat expectant: "Then I'll have to trouble Kitahara-kun? All the ingredients are ready in the kitchen, including the top-grade beef and seafood that the head chef originally sent over."
Kitahara Shin followed Miyamoto Nobuko into the spacious open kitchen.
Looking at the expensive foie gras, truffles, and Wagyu beef on the cutting board, he didn't touch the ingredients that were originally intended for French cuisine.
Trying to cook Western food in front of these discerning diners who are used to top-notch cuisine is a poor strategy.
Besides, I don't know how to make those things myself.
The abandoned chef's knife from the Midnight Diner was lying quietly in the system's inventory, but the passive skill that had been internalized into muscle memory was awakened the moment he gripped the spare kitchen knife.
Feel, weight, and sharpness.
It all became clear in an instant.
"Mrs. Nobuko, could you please find me an apron? Also, I might need someone to help me wash the vegetables."
"Okay, I'll come and help right away."
Twenty minutes later.
A domineering aroma, a blend of lard, soy sauce, and the savory scent of scallions and ginger, wafted from the kitchen into the study, forcefully invading everyone's noses.
It wasn't the subtle aroma of a high-end restaurant, but rather the kind of smell that instantly awakens one's most primal appetite, found in the red lanterns of an izakaya on a late-night street.
"This is----"
Novelist Takahashi sniffed, and his stomach growled loudly, "What a wonderful smell of oil."
Nobuko Miyamoto walked in carrying a large plate.
It's not a refined, individual serving system, but rather a generous serving on large platters.
The first dish is thick-cut ham steak.
The batter was fried until golden and crispy, and when cut open, tender pink ham was revealed. It was served with finely shredded cabbage and a large spoonful of potato salad.
The second dish is Chinese-style stir-fried pork liver with chives.
The pork liver, stir-fried over high heat, is tender, smooth, and glossy, while the chives are vibrant green and juicy, exuding a strong aroma.
The third dish was Japanese-style dry-fried shrimp.
The bright red sauce coats the large shrimp, and the aroma of sweet, sour, and slightly spicy flavors hits you right in the head.
"These are just simple dishes, please bear with them."
Kitahara Shin came out carrying the last plate of thick omelet.
He was still wearing that ill-fitting floral apron, a fine layer of sweat on his forehead, and holding a bottle of chilled beer in his hand.
"French food is too slow. At this point, I feel that these Showa-era style snacks to accompany drinks are more satisfying. Please forgive me."
""
Juzo Itami looked at the dishes on the table, his Adam's apple bobbing.
He picked up a piece of freshly cooked ham steak, dipped it in yellow mustard, and took a bite.
"Click."
The crisp sound was especially clear in the quiet room.
Next comes the savory aroma of the meat juices and the satisfying feeling of the fat.
"Hmm!"
Juzo Itami's eyes lit up. "When we were pulling all-nighters on set, this was the food we craved the most! Restaurants these days are too fancy; they don't taste like this anymore."
Shimada then reached for the plate of stir-fried pork liver with chives.
The pork liver is tender and smooth, with absolutely no fishy smell, only a rich soy sauce aroma and the flavor of simmering.
"This craftsmanship—"
Shimada took a bite, then couldn't resist taking a second bite. As he chewed, he exclaimed, "Kitahara-kun, I never knew you had this skill. The cooking is even more authentic than what I had in Yokohama Chinatown. I feel like if you didn't become an actor, you could definitely open a Chinese restaurant and it would be a hit."
"No, no, no, if he becomes a chef, it would be a loss to the Japanese film industry."
Novelist Takahashi, his mouth greasy, was devouring braised shrimp, completely abandoning his earlier airs. "But Kitahara-kun, if you ever decide you don't want to act anymore, remember to let me know, and I'll definitely come to support you."
Everyone burst into laughter.
The somewhat reserved, even slightly sullen, social atmosphere was completely melted away by these steaming hot home-cooked dishes.
Instead of talking about anything heavy, people started chatting about which yakitori was the best and reminiscing about embarrassing times when they got drunk at roadside stalls in their youth.
Kitahara Shin took off his apron and naturally sat down between Itami Juzo and Shimada.
No one treats him as an idol star used for decoration anymore.
He has begun to integrate.