The Magical Food God of Hogwarts

Chapter 71 You, a Genius Chef?

The kitchen of "Starlight Night" is a completely different world from the quiet and romantic front hall.

There are no melodious tunes or soft starlight here, only the clanging of metal cookware, the hissing of flames licking the bottom of pots, the clatter of silver knives slicing vegetables, and a series of short but forceful greetings and commands. The air is filled with the rich aroma of butter, spices, and roasting and stewing meats.

A dozen or so wizards dressed in pristine white chef's uniforms were busy at their respective posts, wielding their wands with precision as if they were working on a well-oiled machine. A house-elf was also there to assist them.

The heart of the entire kitchen is undoubtedly the head chef, Armand Dubois.

He was tall and stern-faced, with hawk-like eyes that swept over every dish being prepared and cooked.

"This steak isn't properly cleaned! Are you trying to make it swim in your plate? Redo it! Don't act like a complete novice!"

"The sauce! The consistency of the sauce! How many times have I told you, it should cling to the back of a silver spoon and slide down like silk! What are you doing? Don't let me see this garbage!"

"Was the mashed potatoes sieved? I wanted clouds, not grit! You can't even do something this simple right!"

Every chef whose name he called trembled and immediately corrected their mistakes as quickly as possible. In this kitchen, Dubois was an absolute tyrant, an emperor who controlled everything.

But his authority always commanded respect. As one of the top chefs in the British magical world, Dubois's name frequently appeared at high-end banquets. He was invited to serve as the head chef for the private dinners of Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and the manor banquets of the Twenty-Eight Clans.

Just then, the bearded manager hurried over to Dubois's side.

"Armand," he lowered his voice, "our guest tonight, Mr. Lucas McGregor, wishes to see you."

Dubois's gaze never left the plate. He tapped his wand lightly, and a silver spoon scooped up a ladleful of sauce, tracing a perfect arc along the edge of the plate. "McGregor? That kid the Daily Prophet hyped up?"

The man with the mustache laughed awkwardly: "Armand, after all, he's a very popular figure right now. Minister Fudge just personally commended him."

"I know, all you think about is celebrities, fame, and business. With me running this place, the restaurant's business will never be bad." Dubois finally raised his head, his eyes full of disdain. "But that article, and that so-called photo of knife skills—an eleven-year-old kid? The Daily Prophet's star-making is way too much!"

"To fabricate a photo like this, that lying woman Skeeter... it's an insult to cooking! I hate nothing more than this kind of charlatanry in the kitchen!"

The bearded manager quickly advised, "Armand, accepting praise from guests and engaging with them is part of our job, after all. McGregor is absolutely amazed by our food; why don't you go out and chat with him for a bit?"

Dubois frowned. He despised such fame-seeking individuals, but the restaurant's rules could not be broken.

"All right."

He irritably wiped his hands, threw the napkin on the table, and strode out without even glancing at himself in the mirror.

……

When Chef Dubois appeared at the table, Lucas stood up and extended his hand.

"Head Chef, it's an honor to meet you."

Dubois scoffed inwardly, thinking that the kid at least knew a little manners.

"Hello, Mr. McGregor."

The two shook hands briefly.

"Alright, speak up, kid." Dubois looked at Lucas casually.

Let me hear your praise, then I'll say a few humble words before returning to the kitchen. Hopefully, it won't waste too much of my time.

The man with the small mustache stood to one side with a big smile, and everyone was looking at Lucas.

Then Lucas spoke.

"Master Chef, I'd like to ask you, is there no such thing as culinary magic in this world?"

Dubois was stunned for a moment, not understanding what this kid was talking about.

"Mr. McGregor, I don't understand what you mean."

"It's like those magical candies such as Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frog, and Peppermint," Lucas explained. "It's like casting a special spell on food to make it undergo amazing changes."

Upon hearing this, Dubois felt like he had been tricked.

He suppressed his anger and said coldly, "Mr. McGregor, I think you've got one thing wrong. That kind of magic is only for jokes. Think about it yourself—"

He pointed to the star-studded dome: "You arrive at a fine restaurant, dressed in an elegant robe, with a beautiful lady sitting opposite you. And what happens? The long-awaited delicacy is inconsistent in every bite! Or you just pick up your knife and fork, and the baked prawns leap into your face like chocolate frogs! Or you take a sip of soup, and then exhale acrid black smoke and flames right in front of your companion!"

"Is this appropriate? People come to dine to relax and enjoy delicious food, not to watch a circus performance!"

"I see." Lucas, ignoring his tone, nodded in realization. "You're right. I was mistaken. People have completely different requirements for meals and snacks. Snacks can be lively and fun, but meals focus on the essence of food."

Of course, in special circumstances, such as when a couple needs a surprise on a date, or when friends need to liven up a gathering, making some fun magical food is a good idea. However, most of the time, it's not appropriate to add so many fancy magical touches to a regular meal.

These words calmed Dubois down a bit. He thought to himself that this kid was, after all, a Muggle, and it was normal for him not to understand the magical world. He didn't need to pay attention to his nonsense.

However, Lucas immediately followed up with, "Then, what kind of magic can make food taste better?"

Dubois froze, his face flushed instantly, his facial muscles twitched violently, and he stared intently at Lucas, his eyebrows twitching.

"You mean my food tastes terrible and I need magic to make it delicious?"

"No, that's not what I meant..." Lucas was taken aback and quickly tried to explain.

But Dubois was thoroughly enraged; he glared at Lucas, his voice suddenly rising:

"I, Armand Dubois, have been in the business for twenty-three years, and have been invited numerous times to serve as the head chef for banquets hosted by the Ministry of Magic and social elites! This is the first time someone has said my food is terrible!"

His roar drew the attention of all the guests in the restaurant.

"Mr. McGregor, I have to remind you, Rita Skeeter's reporting is all lies! You can fool others, but don't fool yourself!"

"You really think that just because you write a few boasts in the newspapers, you're some kind of genius chef?"

He leaned forward, staring intently at Lucas: "Very well! Then please tell me exactly what's wrong with my dishes? Let everyone see if your so-called genius chef title is just an empty boast!"