princelai:
He laughs. It’s all Lai can do to save face and not miss a beat. After all, this is a civil, nice little event that he’s put together. A gracious host should never do anything to make a guest feel uncomfortable. So he laughs, leading the pack because obviously Remi is just kidding. The other’s might not have gotten the punchline so it’s his duty to make sure they do. “Yes yes, your food “your” restaurant. Honestly, your passion for the craft is just so inspiring.” Lai even went so far as to put air quotes around the second ‘your’, because everyone in the classroom knows full well that owning a business is not in their futures.
“I agree, it’s better for the Dominants in our lives if they’re not thinking about recipes all the time. Which is why the burden is on us to make sure that we’re feeding them proper cuisine. I’m sure Davis loves the way you … cook outside the box, but the rest of us might end up with someone with a more refined palate.” The implication is clear and present, bordering on pure insult. Lai would never claim that Remi’s cooking style is anything but top tier, not outright and certainly not to be petty. Implying though… “Which is why I spent much of my free time studying authentic French cooking. That’s pretty much the gold standard for technique in the world, and you can apply those techniques to essentially any plate.” Lai positions himself in a way that would obscure the other submissives’s view of Remi’s little show, once again bringing attention back to him. “Let us not forget that Remi doesn’t actually run a restaurant. Despite his accomplishments, we should take his advice with a grain of salt.”
Remi liked to believe that he was a reasonable guy. That he had never gone out of his way to intentionally insult or upstage someone. So either he was very wrong about his own motives or Lai just had a problem with the fact that someone else actually knew what they were talking about. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one of the scenarios was more likely. Especially since Lai seemed to be throwing every dig he could manage without crossing the line to straight up insults. Remi wondered if the kid realized he could snap him like a twig. Or, if he preferred a more refined torture, he could julienne Lai into so many pieces no one would be able to tell who he was. Fortunately for him, Remi wasn’t that spiteful of a person. He’d leave the pettiness too Lai.
Or rather, he would have, if the other submissive hadn’t started talking about refined palates and French cuisine. Remi turned the knife over in his hand, stabbing it into the wooden cutting board, and crossing his arms across his chest. “Yes of course. I forgot that no one ate before the invention of French cuisine. Asia and Africa spent centuries starving while we waited for Europeans to enlighten us.” A low blow to be sure but if Lai was going to play at being posh than Remi was going to make him work for it. “Tell me, how do the French propose we make Bao? Or Sushi? Or Muboora and Sadza?”
It was a simple answer really. The French - for the most part - didn’t care about food that wasn’t French. Which meant their palettes were not refined they were limited. But how could Lai know that? He cooked for show. He didn’t live for it the way Remi did. Lai wanted and audience, Remi didn’t care if people watched. “You know what the French are great at?” he asked, grabbing his knife and going back to preparing his Thai Basil Fried Rice. “Getting so drunk before a meal that they don’t know what it tastes like. Perhaps I should stop stop improvising and open a bottle of wine for you instead?”
