The Taste Of Porc

Victor Delacroix sat at his desk, a mountain of applications spread out before him. Hell's Kitchen was set to officially open in two weeks, and the logistics were beginning to wear on him. Hiring staff, organizing supplies, setting up reservations—it was a whirlwind of details that left him feeling suffocated. He rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the growing tension.

Victor knew that running a restaurant like Hell's Kitchen involved a complex web of logistics that required meticulous planning and execution. First and foremost, he needed to source ingredients. For a restaurant as unique as his, he required top-tier suppliers who could provide high-quality, exotic, and sometimes unconventional meats and produce. This meant building relationships with specialty butchers, local farmers, and even some more... discreet contacts for the rarest items on his menu. Victor knew he'd have to personally procure some of these "unorthodox" ingredients, a task that demanded both time and stealth.

In terms of staff, he needed a reliable sous chef who could handle the day-to-day operations in the kitchen under his direction. This person had to be skilled, trustworthy, and capable of maintaining the high standards of Hell's Kitchen. Moreover, he needed to find someone who could assist him in obtaining those rare ingredients, someone who understood the importance of discretion and could navigate the shadows as effectively as he did.

He also had to set up a robust reservation system to manage the influx of exclusive clientele, ensuring that each guest received a personalized and seamless dining experience. Inventory management was crucial too. Victor needed to strike a balance between having enough ingredients to meet demand without overstocking and risking spoilage, which required a sophisticated tracking system and an intuitive understanding of his clientele's preferences.

Financial management couldn't be overlooked either. Victor had to ensure the restaurant was profitable, managing expenses, pricing the menu correctly, and keeping a close eye on cash flow to sustain the business long-term. Harmonizing all these logistical elements was essential for Hell's Kitchen to thrive and earn the reputation of New Albion's most enigmatic and exquisite dining experience that Victor dreamt of.

"Why did I think this would be easy?" he muttered, pushing the papers aside. The pressure of transforming Hell's Kitchen from a concept to a reality was taking its toll.

Standing up, Victor decided he needed a break. Cooking had always been his solace, a way to calm himself and relax when faced with stressful situations. His mind drifted to the leftover orc meat from the previous night. A new idea began to form, inspired by his love for culinary experimentation.

Victor made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's see," he mused aloud, "I'll do a pork à la Normande - orc style."

He began by putting together the ingredients: the remaining orc meat, apples, onions, garlic, apple brandy, cream, and a medley of fresh herbs. He laid everything out on the counter, the familiar routine already starting to ease his mind. It was time to get his mise en place - the prepared components of a dish, ready to cook - together.

First, he prepped the meat. "Okay, let's trim off any excess fat," he said, expertly slicing away the unwanted parts. "Cut into even medallions, about an inch thick." he murmured.

With the meat prepared, Victor turned his attention to the apples and onions. "Thin slices, not too thick," he muttered, his knife moving with practiced precision. "We want them to caramelize nicely."

He heated a large skillet over medium heat, adding a generous knob of butter. As it melted, he placed the orc medallions in the pan, the sizzle and aroma immediately lifting his spirits. "Sear them until golden brown on each side," he said, flipping the meat with deft movements. "Don't rush it—let them develop that beautiful crust." he said with a glint in his eye.

Once the meat was seared, Victor removed it from the skillet and set it aside. In the same pan, he added more butter, then the sliced onions and apples. "Cook until they're soft and starting to caramelize," he instructed himself, stirring occasionally. "The sweetness of the apples will balance the savory flavors." he said, almost drooling. One could almost see stars in his red eyes as he cooked.

Next, he added minced garlic and a sprig of thyme, letting the aromas blend. "A splash of apple brandy now," he said, pouring the apple brandy into the skillet. Flames leapt up as he deglazed the pan, scraping up the browned bits stuck to the bottom. "That's where all the flavor is." he chuckled.

With the alcohol evaporated, he added a generous pour of cream, stirring until the sauce was smooth and luscious. "Season with salt and pepper, then return the meat to the pan," he continued, placing the medallions back into the creamy mixture. "Let it simmer on low heat until the meat is tender and infused with all these wonderful flavors." he muttered, nearly drooling.

As the dish cooked, Victor took a moment to breathe in the rich, comforting aroma filling the kitchen. The stress that had been pressing down on him seemed to melt away with each bubbling sound from the skillet.

He plated the dish with care, arranging the medallions and spooning the creamy apple-onion sauce over the top. Garnishing with fresh parsley, he stepped back to admire his work. "Pork à la Normande - or Porc à la Normande," he corrected himself with a chuckle.

Victor sat down to enjoy his creation, the first bite bringing a satisfied sigh. The meat was tender and flavorful, the sauce perfectly balanced. As he ate, he felt the familiar surge of energy from the orc meat, a reminder of the power that lay beneath his culinary skills. This time, however, there was no increase in his stats or new skills; his stats were already too high and he could only get one skill per species he ate - and the chance of getting one wasn't high either.

"That's better," he murmured, feeling the stress of the day lift. Running Hell's Kitchen was a challenge, but moments like this reminded him why he had taken the risk. It wasn't just about the food - it was about creating something extraordinary, something that defied the expectations everyone had of him. He was raised as an assassin with a monstrous ability and nobody expected him to make something out of himself. His parents, disgusted by his ability and cravings, sold him to the Mort assassin's guild as a child, and leaving the guild was the hardest thing he had accomplished so far. He had dreams. He wanted to be happy - as much as someone like him could, anyway.

With renewed determination, Victor finished his meal, ready to tackle the mountain of applications once more. Hell's Kitchen was his dream, and he would see it through, one dish at a time.

As Victor savored the last bite of his Porc à la Normande, a sudden knock echoed through the restaurant, breaking the serene ambiance. The knock wasn't just any knock; it was a deliberate rhythm that immediately took him back to his assassin days - a coded signal used by allies. He set down his fork, his mind racing through the possibilities of who could be at the door. It had been a long time since anyone had used that code, and the implications of its use now sent a shiver down his spine. Rising from his seat, Victor approached the door cautiously, his senses heightened and his hand instinctively hovering near a hidden blade. He braced himself for the unexpected, ready to confront whatever awaited him on the other side, his dining knife concealed in his hand in a reverse grip.

With a rush of energy and a fake smile he opened the door.

"Welcome to Hell's Kitchen, how may I -" the words stuck in his throat when he saw who it was on the other side of the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked angrily, showing his knife and readying himself for a fight.