This should be the longest time I have been in the toilet in my life, for a whole hour.
Although French people like to take a shower in the morning, I don’t have this habit when I am with my master.
At this moment, I was in the shower and I wanted to wash myself clean.
Then in front of the mirror, from nails to beard, from hair to sideburns.
I want to dress up cleanly and handsomely and then give me a meal myself.
I just wanted to take revenge, wanting my mother to know what she missed.
I arrived at the restaurant early and squeezed into the kitchen.
It’s a pity that I don’t know what my mother likes to eat, but I’m not bad at the most classic Cantonese dish.
The master at the kitchen door looked at me and said, “Why are you still here?”
“I want to have a meal for my mother.” I said.
“Oh?” The master looked at me meaningfully.
It was eleventh half past the moment, and I was quietly waiting for the chef to have a meal.
After a moment.
The waiter who delivered the dishes posted a piece of paper on the wall. The chef in the kitchen glanced at it and shouted, “I’m called the chef, it’s rare to let the chef have a meal at noon.”
The master stepped forward and said, “If someone orders, you have to do it, don’t talk about it.”
Judging from the master’s appearance, he treated me as a vacation and completely replaced my job.
I stretched out a hand and stopped the master and said, “This order should be mine, and she is the only one who lit up at noon.”
The master was stunned for a moment and waved his hand with a smile.
Improved version of white-cut chicken, oil-consuming tofu and floral winter melon cup.
After preparing the three dishes, I asked the one who delivered the dishes to deliver the first two dishes and picked up the flower-scented winter melon cup.
I was going to go out, but the master suddenly said from a distance, “What are you going to do?”
“Transfer food?” I said.