Chapter 81
Chapter 81. Royal Culinary Competition (1)
The royal announcement had been posted.
It declared that a 'culinary' category of the Royal Warrant had been newly established, and that a competition of the highest order would be held to find a worthy recipient.
"What on earth happened here?"
Penelope, who had rushed over from first thing in the morning with her hair not even fully dried, unfolded the newspaper with an expression of bewilderment.
"What do you mean?"
"No, I mean — does this make sense? Was the Royal Guard really this capable?"
Penelope genuinely could not comprehend it.
Jurgen had put in a request to the Royal Guard, and yet a Royal Warrant culinary category had materialized almost immediately after.
The number of steps that had been skipped was beyond calculation.
"……Hmm, did you anticipate this far?"
"How could I have?"
"It's strange……. The fact that you stepped out so unlike yourself too……."
Penelope stared at Jurgen with a suspicious expression, but.
"Lucky us."
Jurgen was merely sipping his Cola with a chuckle.
There was no concrete evidence Penelope could point to either way, was there?
To Penelope, who didn't know the underlying mechanics, the chain of events probably looked like magic — but magic, once you know the trick, becomes simple.
Jurgen had known of the queen's deep affection for Luiza.
And so he had simply asked Kaylun and Ellara to 'write in the report that Her Highness Princess Luiza was very fond of the Seasoned Chicken.'
He had merely borrowed the mouth of the Royal Guard to deliver the most effective petition to the doting queen.
That it would lead precisely to the format of a culinary competition — he hadn't quite anticipated that far……
Even so, he was satisfied.
He genuinely felt like giving a standing ovation.
A culinary competition — in that Britannia Kingdom.
What a heart-stirring thing this was.
'It seems to have passed through that chief secretary's hands at some point.'
It was exactly the kind of approach that Arthur fellow would have liked.
However, if it had passed through Arthur's hands, the luck of CCC definitively receiving the Royal Warrant this time around could be considered as good as gone.
Arthur had always preferred minimizing political costs.
If he had deliberately chosen the format of a 'competition,' it meant he intended to be mindful of justification and fairness.
It also meant the queen had agreed to this.
In other words, minor conveniences might be extended — but.
'Competition starts! Seasoned Chicken wins! Bang bang bang!' — that sort of picture was unlikely to materialize.
"In that case, we'll need to prepare for the competition in earnest. Have you read the detailed guidelines?"
"No, I rushed over here. It says they're on the back."
Jurgen and Penelope put their heads together side by side and opened the back of the newspaper.
The application guidelines contained additional participation conditions for the competition.
The front page had clearly stated 'Eligibility: All chefs and trading companies within the Britannia Kingdom' — but……
"Hmm, the entry fee is steep."
The competition entry fee was 50 Crowns.
In terms of Korean cost of living, it was roughly the price of a brand-new SUV.
With that sum, wouldn't about 95% of those who had considered entering fall away?
"It means they'll start by filtering out the borderline ones."
It was a move befitting the Royal Supply Committee.
By giving a chance only to those who could casually pay the large entry fee while establishing the justification of fair competition, they could weed out the noise and reduce unnecessary administrative costs as well.
It wasn't particularly disadvantageous for CCC.
Not only were they confident in quality, but Y&P also had Cola — a reliable cash cow — behind them.
Having accepted all of this well enough, Jurgen found himself at a loss when he reached the 1st preliminary round procedure.
[The 1st preliminary round will be conducted through document screening.]
"The 1st preliminary round of a culinary competition is a document screening……?"
It seemed the two of them had been underestimating Britannia.
Under a slogan claiming to 'seek the hidden flavors of the royal family,' they wouldn't even taste anything in the preliminary round.
"……What exactly are we supposed to write? Would describing the taste work?"
"It says here."
Helpfully, a document application form was attached in tiny print.
"Name, ingredients used, photograph of the completed dish, justification for Royal Warrant eligibility, the dish's contribution to Britannia's national dignity……"
While demanding meticulously detailed content that made one wonder if any of it was truly necessary — they conspicuously required nothing at all about 'taste.'
It was an administrative process that plainly demonstrated how little this kingdom cared about gastronomy.
Well, if they had cared, they wouldn't have made the 1st screening a document review to begin with.
"It's like hosting a painting competition and having blind people do the judging. What on earth do they expect?"
Penelope seemed anxious, as though she couldn't quite get a feel for it.
Ordinarily the Royal Warrant would have been something she'd never even dared dream of — but now that it was within range, she apparently had her sights set on it.
"Still, won't we be fine? The competition was initiated because of the request you made, right? The Royal Guard will put in a word for us, won't they."
"Hmm, I'd say the Royal Guard's role ends with having created the 'culinary category' and opened the competition."
The reason he surmised this was again due to the temperament of the queen and her secretary.
Now that the matter had grown this large, other competitors aiming for the Royal Warrant would likely enter as well.
Perhaps the queen intended not to award the Seasoned Chicken the Royal Warrant at this high-profile inaugural competition, but quietly and discreetly at the next or the one after — a few competitions down the line.
Did that mean he lacked confidence?
Not at all.
In terms of taste, he had absolutely no intention of losing.
"Penelope, would you leave the document screening to me?"
The document screening too.
"I was going to handle it. Are you confident?"
Since time immemorial, was there not a set method for solving a fiendishly difficult problem when one couldn't figure out where to begin?
"Of course."
Precisely.
Grasping the intent and disposition of the one who set the question.
***
The announcement of a culinary competition with a Royal Warrant as the prize.
Naturally, it drew the attention of many.
People's reactions were divided in several directions.
"A culinary competition? Such a thing exists?"
"They say it's a new one this time."
"Her Majesty is opening a competition for something rather pointless this time."
"There's even a Rock-paper-scissors competition, so what……"
Those who adopted a 'why bother with something like that' stance and watched from a distance.
Given that these were Britannians, this type of reaction accounted for more than half.
It was another world's affair, as far as they were concerned.
However, those with even one foot in the world of 'cuisine' or 'food industry' kept a close eye on this competition.
"Shall I give it a shot?"
"Come off it, the entry fee is 50 Crowns they say."
"What kind of culinary competition has a 50-Crown entry fee? Did the national treasury run dry?"
"The noble lords are going to have a grand old time feeding from the trough, aren't they?"
Chefs running small restaurants and commoners gave up at this point — but……
"The time has come to properly demonstrate the skill of our restaurant."
"I can smell money wafting from this. Get in touch with the chefs we sponsor."
"Getting a royal supply certificate hung in the family — 50 Crowns is worth the investment."
"Britannia cuisine doesn't stand a chance. How about recruiting talent from abroad?"
"Her Majesty is being rather unfair. Shouldn't the Royal Warrant naturally be awarded to our royal palace chefs?"
Chefs who had opened restaurants in prime locations in major cities, royal head chefs, nobles desiring prestige, and others with some money to spare were different.
And the civil servants at the Royal Supply Committee……
"What on earth is this bolt from the blue……"
"Uuu…… I hate overtime…… I want to go home……"
Were buried under application documents pouring in from across the country.
Understandably so — the usual workload of the supply committee had not been particularly heavy.
When a suitably qualified company offered a suitably qualified product for a suitably qualified reason, one handled it in a suitably fitting manner with suitably fitting political considerations, and things worked out suitably.
However, from the moment that blasted mustachioed Arthur goaded the queen into opening something like a culinary competition……
Anomie descended upon the committee.
"This is going to drive me mad."
Among those affected, the greatest victim was the Chairman of the Royal Supply Committee, Baron Kinsley.
"You idiot! That application there is from the Eastwood Marquis family's documents! What do you think you're doing, burying it at the bottom?!"
"I-I'm sorry."
Baron Kinsley, veins bulging in his neck, berated his foolish subordinate.
His worries were anything but trivial.
Those who didn't know any better would look at him with envious eyes — 'Oh, you're the Royal Supply Committee Chairman? Heh heh, must be quite a cushy position' — but……
This was a position that, the moment one put a foot wrong, was perfectly suited to falling out of favor with distinguished families.
If one dragged those people in and sat them in this chair, nine out of ten would be fleeing within a day.
It was like overseeing a competition of unknown intent, entangled with unknown risks — and it felt as though the life was being scorched right out of him.
Operations manual? Doesn't exist.
Precedent? That doesn't exist either.
Her Majesty's intentions? No idea.
Handle it appropriately at your own discretion, and if something goes wrong, bear all responsibility yourself.
That was the situation he found himself in.
It was simply terrifying and exhausting and dreadful.
"You've been working hard."
At that moment, an elderly gentleman in a fine suit appeared.
It was none other than Arthur himself — the queen's chief secretary, the very man who had driven Baron Kinsley into this absurd catastrophe.
"Have many applications come in?"
"……Thanks to you. I'm busy with work, so could you schedule an appointment for another time?"
Baron Kinsley, struggling to conceal his displeasure, issued a dismissal.
But Arthur brazenly lingered nearby and surveyed the towering stack of documents on the desk.
Just as Baron Kinsley was debating whether to raise his voice——
— Thud
Arthur set a document down on the desk.
[Y&P Trading Company, Crispy Crown Chicken (CCC)]
It was the application document that Baron Kinsley had, moments ago, shoved into a corner without a second glance after only seeing the cover.
"It had fallen over there."
"I'd already seen it."
"I don't know how it looks to Sir Kinsley, but in my estimation it's quite decent — it seems like a level that would pass the 1st preliminary round."
Was he now attempting to interfere in someone else's work?
Baron Kinsley, irritation welling up as he furrowed his brow——
Abruptly snapped his head around and stared at Arthur with wide eyes.
Arthur, with no reaction whatsoever, glanced at his pocket watch and turned his back.
"Since you're busy, I'll take my leave."
"P-please, do take care."
Thinking back on it, there was no way the exceptionally busy chief secretary — and Arthur of all people, the very man who had dumped this workload on him and left — would take such an action without reason.
Arthur had given Baron Kinsley a kind of 'revelation' as he wandered through the minefield unable to see an inch ahead.
Look favorably upon Y&P Trading Company.
But if it's too obvious it'll cause you trouble too, so let them through on a free pass at least until the 'document preliminary.'
"……Huu."
In that case, what Baron Kinsley had to do was one thing.
Dress up the application of Y&whatnot Trading Company so that anyone who looked at it would naturally say, 'Well, at this level they certainly deserve to be selected.'
Kinsley opened the application submitted by Y&P Trading Company.
And saw.
"Oh my……"
Perfect margins and line spacing that seized readability at a glance.
Not handwriting scrawled in a flourishing script to put on airs, but text typed out steadily on a typewriter in the official typeface of the royal administration.
Without a single unnecessary flowery phrase — section divisions and a numbering system that fit together precisely according to logical structure.
It looked as though a top-tier administrator had written it.
He had received documents from countless nobles over the years, but a document this close to 'the textbook standard' was the first he had ever seen in his life.
"I'll have to tell those below me to study and learn from this."
Baron Kinsley picked up a large stamp and pressed it down firmly.
Bang.
Above the Y&P logo, the seal reading [1st Document Screening: Passed] was stamped.