Simulate the operation of Beebo Street

The first customer who came to the store today is very special.

White fluffy earmuffs, a red checked cashmere scarf, and flowing black long curly hair falling on a thick woolen coat.

Such distinctive features are hard to forget.

It's you!The super invincible port mafia quasi-cadre who is afraid of the cold!

Meng Chuan Yuli smiled slightly, and took the initiative to hand over the menu to his hand, but secretly vigilant in his heart.

Today's quasi-cadres are still sickly and pale, with a refined and polite smile on their faces, but a bit of preoccupation in their eyes.

What was he doing on Leibo Street in the morning?

Lan Tang quietly stared at the menu in front of him, his slender fingers slid across the names of various dishes one by one.

It was a bilingual dish name in Japanese and French.The familiar letters once again triggered the fragments of his memory-the main reason why he couldn't sleep at night that had been beating in his mind recently.

"Excuse me, what would you like to order, sir?" The girl's voice interrupted his contemplation, pulling him back from the vortex of memories to the real world.

The simple and clear syllables of Japanese match perfectly with the crisp voice of the girl, but at this moment, he only wants to hear the romantic and elegant tones of French.

Every sight, every sound to which one had grown accustomed suddenly became disturbing.Everything reminded him that this is Japan thousands of miles away from his hometown, and he has been away from his hometown for eight full years.

...and his best friend who hadn't been seen for eight years.

Lan Tang was silent for a few seconds, then raised his head to look at her.

"I came here because I heard that there is excellent French cuisine here," he said slowly, "What is the chef's specialty French cuisine?"

... Judging by this performance, they don't remember that they ever met once.

Mengchuan Yuli calmed down a little, she smiled slightly, and replied irrelevantly: "Speaking of which, today is May 5th."

"That's true. What's the question... Ah! I understand." Lan Tang's eyes turned to joy after a moment of confusion, "Then, let's have a piece of that, and a vegetable salad."

Yuri Yumekawa, who took away the menu, returned to the kitchen through the aisle, followed by Eita who was completely confused by the rhythm of the topic.

"Are you playing charades? Which one is that? What does it matter what day it is?"

"Today, May 5th, is the "National Quiche Day" in France. So there is no doubt that you should eat quiche!" Yuri Yumekawa raised a finger, "I think this gentleman has European He said that he wanted to eat French food, so he tried it out. It seems that he is indeed French."

The cadres of the port mafia are actually French, what an international organization.

Eita showed an expression of sudden realization: "I see... But, wait a minute, is this on the menu?"

"What does it matter? Chuangzhen can do everything, and this kind of common French snack is definitely not a problem." Yuri Yumekawa didn't care, "I need to remind him, don't make too many innovations, customers want to eat It’s the taste of home~”

At ten o'clock in the morning, lazy jazz music slowly flows in the empty restaurant.There was no one around, and Lan Tang, who was waiting for the food to be served, enjoyed this moment of tranquility.

He looked down at the glass with the sliced ​​lemon floating in it, recalling his actions so far.

Forged black flames...the declaration left in the vault camera...the figure of the ancestors exposed to the public...

Then there is the reaction of all parties.

The GSS launched the attack as expected... The barbarian who kept silent and kept hiding...

When will the two little ghosts who got the silver hand come to his door?

Could that boy whose ability is controlled by gravity be the one he was looking for?

"Good morning!"

Very abruptly, a red-haired young man in a white chef uniform sat across from him, smiling heartily and greeting him in French.

"You can speak French?" Lan Tang was slightly surprised, "You are the chef of this restaurant? You are so young and promising."

"That's right!" Xing Ping Chuangzhen threw the towel over his shoulder.

“I did an internship in a French restaurant before, and learned a few words of French along the way. It’s rare to meet a customer from France, so I came to say hello. By the way, the quiche you ordered is already in the oven, and it will be hot in no time. It's out!"

"No, it's not what you think. I came to Yokohama since I was a child, so I'm half Japanese." Lan Tang showed a slightly embarrassed look.

The instinct of an intelligence officer made him lie and cover up reflexively.

"Hahaha that's the case! Then, this Lorraine quiche, I hope it can bring back some of your childhood memories!" Xing Ping Chuangzhen scratched his messy hair, "Yuri also said that it must be authentic The classic taste of Lorraine, if I knew I would have added some Japanese elements, such as burdock or something? You will definitely like it.”

no thanks.Fortunately, no addition, he still wants to eat the original flavor.

After a while, the quiche Lorraine served on the disc arrived as promised.

The edges of the crust are wrinkled like a lady’s skirt, enveloping the delicacy. The slightly burnt golden surface is the color of the sun, and the chopped bacon and coriander lightly sprinkled on the surface embellish the moving charm.

"..."

A true Lorraine quiche to perfection.

Lan Tang cut it evenly in silence.When the crispy crust is cracked by external force, the crumbs will inevitably be shaken off gently. The table knife cuts across the filling effortlessly, and makes an imperceptible sound when it touches the bottom of the plate very lightly.

The side of the cut quiche reveals the delicate and smooth texture of the salted egg cream filling made of eggs and cream. People can imagine how it melts on the tip of the tongue without putting it in the mouth.The softly wrapped bacon and onion pieces sank silently to the bottom, and finally revealed their true face at this moment, only waiting for the creamy filling to unfold slowly in the mouth, adding the last touch of freshness.

Rimbaud separated a piece and bit down on the sharp corner.

"group?"

Verlaine stared at the food in front of him.

Round, golden, with the unique aroma of baked dim sum.

He popped out a single word from between his teeth in an unfamiliar tone.

"No, it's not, it's a different name." Rimbaud couldn't help smiling and taught him a new word, "This is Quiche, a country delicacy from the Lorraine region. Our breakfast today."

There was little rain outside the poorly decorated street restaurant, and the two sitting under the large umbrella that was originally used for sunshade looked at each other over the quiche on the table.

The slightly sultry summer wind, which was contaminated with rain, passed by the side, and the bright artificial bouquet in the center of the wooden dining table also swayed gently.

The footsteps of passers-by, the sound of cars passing by, and the music of old record players are intertwined chaotically, but the world has become quieter because of this.

At least, that's how Rimbaud felt in the face of Verlaine's silence.

"Oh."

Verlaine looked away, but still answered with short sentences.

Ignoring the knife and fork that was properly wrapped in a napkin, he raised a piece of quiche that had been cut by Rimbaud with his hand, and sent the sharp corner that revealed the tender color of the egg cream filling into his mouth, looking very mechanical chewing.

Then a second tablet, then a third, the chewing speed picks up.

It was the first time that Verlaine, who had just returned to human social life, showed interest in external things in a very unobvious way.

12 years ago, Rimbaud took on the responsibility of teaching and guiding Verlaine in the first week.

The warm memories flowed through his heart, temporarily soothing his restless heart since he recovered some of his memories.

"It's really a dish that can make people warm. I don't think it's so cold anymore."

Lan Tang, who was holding a quiche, murmured, no, Rimbaud.