You don't take orders? The owner had no idea how to express how he felt. Why didn't you just fly into the sky? Were you still a restaurant owner? No, were you even still a chef?
The restaurant's Big Chef worshiped him to the extreme. The moment he heard that, he froze up, his whole body burning as if he had soaked in a hot spring. If a chef didn't take orders, wouldn't that mean he had no idea what the customers' tastes and preferences were? He could cook whatever he wanted, and they had no room to choose!
One sentence had laid bare the truth: eat it or don't! Holy crap, Big Chef looked at Chef Qin as if he were the endless Yangtze River. How could you be this awesome?
You'd already reached the level of standing shoulder to shoulder with the sun, hadn't you? The surrounding customers were speechless, unable to find the words to comment. There were all kinds of strange things in the world, but this was their first time seeing such an individualistic chef. If they couldn't order, how were they supposed to eat the dishes they liked?
Since ancient times, capable people had tempers, but people with such bizarre tempers were rare—especially chefs.
There was a saying: chefs should bring enjoyment and beauty to their customers. But damn it, you didn't even ask what people wanted to eat? How did you pull that off?
Even the foreign family was dumbfounded, collectively dumbfounded. The middle-aged foreigner was the owner of a major corporation and very wealthy. He had come to the expo this time intending to open up the market and cooperate with Yan-Huang, so he naturally had status. He had seen plenty of talented, arrogant people, but someone like Qin Fen? He had