Phantom

"To be honest, I really can't stand English food."

Duanmu Huai sat in the car, complaining nonstop.

"I used to think people were joking when they said the worst nightmare was letting an Englishman become a chef. Now I understand that it's a tragic fact."

Staring at the scenery outside the car, Duanmu Huai let out a long sigh. To be honest, that was exactly what he had thought at first. After all, this was a modern civilized city and a gathering place for all kinds of cultures. Perhaps only the local English cuisine was awful, while foreign food would still be edible. At worst, he could always eat fast food...

All right, Duanmu Huai admitted that he had miscalculated.

There was nothing edible in this damn country.

Take fruit, for example. There were countless varieties of fresh, juicy fruit in the world, yet the supermarkets here only sold sour and astringent ones. Given the country's location, importing good fruit shouldn't have been difficult, but every supermarket only carried terrible fruit.

It wasn't just the fruit. Even the ingredients themselves were the same. That made it easy to understand why the English couldn't cook decent meals—the ingredients themselves were like rotting dead flesh. No matter what you did, you couldn't make delicious grilled steak out of them, could you?

Over the past year or so, Duanmu Huai had eaten fast food like hamburgers more than anything else. It was rather pathetic, but English meals were truly impossible for him to swallow.

For example, they actually put soup on a plate and drank it. What, did your family not have bowls!?

And those plates looked like UFOs, with ridiculously wide rims. So why use that thing to hold soup? Wouldn't a basin be more convenient?

What the hell was wrong with