Chapter 180 Mr. Windsor learns to cook
In the end, Natalie’s shame prevailed. It was already a challenge to forgo her usual conservative pajamas and opt for a silk nightgown. Her red nightgown made her look even more striking.
Oliver usually had rather good taste, but he inexplicably harbored the belief that women favored the color red and pink. Consequently, most of the clothes he bought were dresses in shades of red and pink.
Having made all necessary preparations, Natalie sat on the bed, awaiting Oliver’s return.
Recently, he had been preoccupied with work and had not slept in the room. Natalie waited for his return until sleep overcame her, and she awoke at 2:18 in the morning to find that Oliver was still absent.
She donned a robe and ventured out. Upon reaching the study, she found its door wide open and the room engulfed in darkness, devoid of any presence. Oliver was nowhere to be found.
She thought, ‘Did he go out?’
Baffled, Natalie was about to return to her room when she saw a dim light from the kitchen downstairs, accompanied by the murmur of conversation.
"Sir, the technique you’re using to knead the minced meat is wrong. It is essential to utilize the power of the wrist to make sure the meat’s texture is chewy."
"Sir, you mistook flour for starch! Look, the consistency of flour is more uniform and finer, whereas starch, even when stored appropriately, is a little damp and coarser in texture, presenting itself in small lumps"
This was the voice of the head chef.
Curious, Natalie made her way downstairs with cautious steps. Soon after, she heard the head chef’s voice again.
"Sir, it’s not advisable to flip the pan so much; the steak has yet to form a crust."
"Sir, the art of cooking is governed by precise timing. We seared the meat on high heat earlier, and now we have to lower the heat to cook it through. Otherwise, the meat will be easily burnt.”
“Enough with the ‘Sir’. Just get to the point!” Oliver said, clearly irritated.
It was also at this moment that Natalie walked in.
Oliver, who was typically dressed in expensive suits or casual attire, wore an apron now. His expression was one of frustration as he stared at the pot. It was as though he wanted to burn a hole through it.
The counter nearby was cluttered with plates that seemed to contain food. However, due to the darkness of its color, it was difficult to distinguish what kind of food it was.
Oliver’s hands, which were accustomed to sealing deals worth billions, were now smeared with a sticky flour mixture up to his forearms, which presented a humorous sight. His awkward attempts at flipping beef strips added a touch of comedy to the scene.
The head chef, standing beside him, wore an expression of bemusement.
Unable to contain herself, Natalie erupted into laughter.
Both Oliver and the head chef, engrossed in their difficult learning and teaching session, were jolted by her laughter. This caused Oliver to falter, resulting in a splash of hot oil that scalded his hand.
He instinctively recoiled, yet his reaction was unlike that of an ordinary person who would instinctively gasp at the pain. Instead, he inspected the burn with disdain.
A fleeting expression of embarrassment appeared on his face before it was replaced by annoyance. “Why are you awake at this hour? Why are you here?”
Suppressing her laughter, Natalie asked, "And you? What are you up to?"
Oliver’s expression was stoic as he looked at his flour-covered self. His lips were pursed, making him look extremely aggrieved.
Curiosity got the better of Natalie, and she continued to ask, "Oliver, what exactly are you doing?"
"Cooking!" Oliver replied curtly, his tone betraying his displeasure.
The head chef, standing awkwardly to the side, chimed in upon seeing Natalie scrutinizing the dishes on the counter, "These two are pan-fried potatoes."
The identity of the potatoes was not immediately recognizable.
"And this?" Natalie inquired, gesturing toward a plate of chopped vegetables.
"This is intended for the pasta."
"Did you overcook it, or perhaps forget to add any seasonings?" Natalie asked. Her tone was more curious rather than critical.
The head chef looked visibly embarrassed, reluctant to admit that he had personally taught the struggling student in front of them.
"And what about this?" Natalie continued.
"This is supposed to be steak. It was his first attempt, and unfortunately, it didn’t turn out as expected. He intends to try again," the head chef explained, his voice carrying a hint of optimism despite the disastrous result.
Natalie glanced once more at the pan, noticing its resemblance to the intended dish but with little sign of improvement. Without even tasting it, she could surmise that the dish must be disastrous.
"Are you done talking?" Oliver interjected, unable to mask his frustration any longer as he addressed the head chef with a frosty demeanor.
Earlier that evening, the head chef had suggested teaching Oliver a few dishes. Neither of them anticipated Natalie discovering Oliver's nocturnal culinary endeavors.
"Sir..." the head chef began apprehensively. He had no idea what he had done to warrant such a response.
"Leave!"
"Yes!"
The head chef quickly left, returning to his own residence in Rosewood Estate.
Natalie followed the head chef and thanked him before she returned to the kitchen.
Oliver remained by the stove, and he was now turning the flame off. He held a cigarette in his hand as he skillfully exhaled a ring of smoke. His eyes were slightly narrowed, betraying his frustration.
He thought, ‘Didn’t those people on the Internet say that cooking is easy? It’s harder than running a company!’
"Oliver." Natalie approached and saw the blisters on his hand — two on the back and another on his wrist. She gently took his hand, running cold water over the burns to soothe the pain before she proceeded to clean his hands.
As she removed his apron, she could not help but draw a parallel between his current state and a child's after a day spent playing.
Just as Natalie was about to ask about his late-night cooking lessons, Oliver asked, “Do you think I’m useless?”
Natalie was taken aback. "Absolutely not. You’re the chairman of RK Group. If you’re useless, then what about other people?”
Oliver responded with another drag from his cigarette, and the ensuing smoke caused Natalie to cough. With this, he quickly snuffed out the cigarette.
"Why did you suddenly want to learn how to cook?” Natalie asked curiously before she added, “I also noticed you seemed rather unhappy during dinner…”
Oliver remained silent as Natalie began to clear the kitchen counter. After a moment, he said, “Lucas mentioned that a man ought to know how to cook.”
Lucas’ meaning was clear: A man who could not cook was not worthy of being his brother-in-law, and his sister admired men who were good cooks.
Natalie tried to suppress her laughter. She continued to look down as she cleaned, saying, “I can cook relatively well, so I don’t need my husband to be good at cooking.”
As soon as she uttered the words, ‘my husband’, Natalie was briefly stunned. Her ears turned red immediately after that.
"That's what your 'egghead' believes," Oliver remarked, clearly displeased.
Natalie was puzzled and thought, ‘What? Egghead?’
After a moment, Natalie realized that she had unknowingly accepted Lucas being addressed as an ‘egghead’ by Oliver. She was slightly startled by this revelation.
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