Carl hadn't walked far from Arasaka Academy before spotting a small restaurant by the side of the road.
After glancing at the time, he decided that this would be the place for lunch today.
The restaurant wasn't large, taking up only about 50 square meters.
Inside, there were only four scattered customers, and the staff wasn't numerous either—just one busy chef behind the counter and a single waiter moving around.
"Welcome, sir. Feel free to sit anywhere. Just call me when you're ready to order."
The young male waiter, despite his obvious workload, still took a moment to greet Carl before motioning toward the available seats.
"Got it. I'll call you when I'm ready."
After acknowledging Carl's response, the waiter immediately rushed off, still buzzing around the shop.
Carl couldn't help but wonder—
Why the hell is this guy so busy when there are barely any customers?
Even with just one person on staff, it shouldn't be that bad.
From what Carl understood about the restaurant business, a single waiter could comfortably handle 4 to 6 customers at once, while an experienced one could serve up to 10.
Counting himself, there were only five people in the entire restaurant.
Even if the guy was a complete newbie, he should be able to manage.
Besides, that was based on his old world's standards.
In 2075, most restaurant meals were pre-made or semi-prepared—just a matter of microwaving, mixing, and serving.
So...
What's he so busy with?
Just as Carl was settling into his seat, he suddenly heard the clear, unmistakable sound of something frying.
Zzzzzt.
That sizzling sound was immediately followed by the rich aroma of oil dispersing through the air, carried along by the restaurant's slowly circulating air conditioning.
Carl instinctively sniffed the air—
Then, his eyes lit up.
This place... for a City Center restaurant, it's actually cooking food properly?
And this oil—its quality...!
Carl's mind had already reached a conclusion.
Butter.
Real, actual butter.
Not the synthetic garbage that was commonplace in 2075—butter made from real milk, churned into solid fat.
How could he be so sure?
Simple.
He used to cook steak a lot back in his time.
And every single time—he used butter.
He still remembered a culinary book he had read about searing steak in butter.
The key tip was not to let the butter fully melt before adding the steak, because real butter had a low melting point and would burn quickly, leaving blackened streaks on the meat.
Instead, the moment the butter was half-melted, you had to stir it with a fork before placing the steak in the pan.
Sure, Carl's steak-cooking skills sucked—he could never get the doneness right—but the scent of butter?
That was burned into his memory.
He could easily tell the difference between real butter and synthetic substitutes just by smell alone.
Now, the question was—
What kind of food was this place making?
Carl leaned back in his chair and scanned the table for some kind of ordering interface.
Nothing.
No wonder the waiter had told him to call when he was ready.
This place was so old-school that it didn't even have a digital ordering system—something that was already a rare sight back in his time.
But...
You didn't even give me a menu.
How the hell am I supposed to know what I want to order?
Butter was usually associated with Western cuisine, so Carl could guess that this place served Western food.
But Western cuisine was huge—
Was it British? French? Italian?
If it was French or Italian, that would be great.
But if it was British... well... that'd still be better than most of the crap they served in Night City.
Compared to the absolute horrors that passed for food in this city, even the infamously mocked 'Stargazy Pie' from Britain sounded delicious.
Carl knew that getting real meat in City Center was pretty much impossible.
But hey—they were using real butter.
At the very least, maybe the vegetarian options would be decent?
Just as Carl was lost in thought, the busy waiter suddenly realized his mistake—he had forgotten to give Carl a menu.
Apologizing hastily, he quickly handed over a menu made of a material somewhere between plastic and paper.
Carl flipped it open—and his heart skipped a beat.
"Jackpot!"
It wasn't French cuisine.
It wasn't Italian either—two of Europe's top-tier cuisines.
But at the very least...
It wasn't British.
This place was a Spanish restaurant.
And to Carl, Spanish food ranked just below French and Italian.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm~"
If the food turned out to be good, he'd have to bring Oliver and Jack here next time.
As he scanned the menu, he noticed something—
The prices weren't cheap.
The cheapest dish was 70 eddies and up.
Considering this was City Center, and they were actually using real butter, maybe the prices were fair.
Naturally, Carl's first instinct was to check for one of the three great Western dishes—
The Spanish paella, a dish ranked alongside Italian pasta and French escargot.
But the moment he saw the listed ingredients, he immediately dismissed it.
Synthetic squid. Synthetic oysters. Synthetic shrimp.
The hell is this garbage?
No way in hell was he eating that.
Seemed like meat dishes were completely off the table.
Carl scanned the menu again before locking onto the only safe choices.
Spanish Omelet - 70 eddies
Ingredients: Synthetic eggs, potato starch.
Carl had eaten synthetic eggs before.
They tasted decent—a bit chemically off, but still tolerable.
This was a must-order.
Better make it two portions.
Creamy Mushroom Soup - 150 eddies
Ingredients: Real cream, lab-grown mushrooms.
Comes with: 200g wheat white bread.
Real cream?!
No wonder it costs 150 eddies!
Lab-grown mushrooms? That wasn't surprising.
Most synthetic vegetables were algae-based, and since mushrooms thrived in humid environments, they often grew naturally alongside them.
For corpos, this was just another way to make extra profit.
Carl's attitude toward them?
As long as it didn't kill him, he'd eat it.
After calling the waiter and placing his order, he grabbed a can of sweet tea from the restaurant's only vending machine.
Just as he did, he noticed someone new enter the shop.
A young woman, probably in her early twenties, with pale pink short hair, red eyeshadow, and a cropped top exposing her midriff.
She was pretty, but her expression was cold as hell, like the entire world owed her money.
Carl glanced at her once—
Then immediately lost interest.
Didn't know her.
Didn't care.
In 2075, where cosmetic surgery was effortless, beautiful people were everywhere.
Hell, just a few days ago, he had been holding someone entirely natural and unmodified.
Someone like this chick?
Not even worth a second look.
Rather than staring at a pretty face, Carl was far more excited about his creamy mushroom soup and Spanish omelet.
Just how good will they be?
Maybe he should pre-order some for later—
Bring a few portions for Jack, Oliver, and Vik tonight.