Henry, being an outsider, naturally had no answer to the chef's question.
Following the principle of "when in Rome, do as the Romans do," Henry said, "Who cares? As long as everyone eats to their satisfaction, you've completed your task. Besides, haven't you already found the secret to success?"
The two of them looked at the freshly replenished donut station, salad bar, and high-end coffee machine. The hardworking people of the United States were just that easy to fool.
If he really served Molecular Gastronomy or mushroom clam soup, they might flip the table on the spot. It was like feeding fine grain to a pig.
Still, looking at the halfhearted buffet spread, even though there would be more variety during normal mealtimes, Old Black asked somewhat uneasily:
"Do you think I should make some changes? If the boss who hired me sees this, will he think I'm not doing my job properly? In other words, maybe this job is actually a test."
Henry spoke bluntly. "No matter how good the food is, once it's piled onto large platters for people to help themselves, with everyone free to pick whatever they want, that cheap plastic-like feeling can't be removed. Even if you use the finest ingredients."
"So, do you have any ideas?"
These days, the only person Old Black could discuss cooking with for a few words without it being empty commercial flattery was Henry, the random extra.
As a chef, Old Black could naturally tell whether someone truly knew how to eat or was merely parroting what others said. That was why he asked Henry for his thoughts at a time like this.
"Maybe... you could try cooking food from your hometown. I imagine the truly rich have probably gotten tired of French Cuisine, Italian Cuisine, Spanish Cuisine, and