Baratie, the sea restaurant.
Renowned as East Blue's finest dining, it drew crowds eager to savor dishes crafted by owner and head chef Zeff. Even high-ranking navy officers frequented the place.
Here, it didn't matter if you were navy or pirate, noble or commoner. Arrive hungry, and they'd fill your belly.
Creak! Baratie's aged, heavy wooden door groaned, drowning out the restaurant's soothing music.
Sora pushed it open, striding in, followed by Kuina, Ahua, Alo, and Ata. Diners glanced at the doorway, then resumed their meals.
The elegant music, clinking cutlery, and hushed conversations washed over them.
"Welcome!" A burly man with a pink scarf, looking like a fierce Popeye, appeared from nowhere. Bending low, rubbing his hands, he grinned broadly at them.
Paddy had spotted Sora's crew the moment they entered. He'd rushed over at top speed to greet them. These guests screamed wealth, and Paddy loved serving the rich—their generosity was his delight. Poor folks? Not so much.
Sora met Paddy's gaze, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Politely, he said, "We've heard this place serves East Blue's best cuisine. We're here to try it. Could you recommend something?"
Paddy blinked at Sora's sunny demeanor. Polite guests were rare at Baratie, where pirates—hardly models of etiquette—were the main clientele. His professional smile warmed slightly. "Sirs, please, take a seat. I'll introduce our menu shortly."
Once a brutal pirate, Paddy had joined Red-Haired Zeff at Baratie, becoming a chef and combatant. He called everyone "sir" as a quirk.
Eyeing the group's size, he shouted toward the kitchen, "Five guests!" Gesturing to a window-side empty table, he led them over. "This way, gentlemen. Baratie is at your service."
Paddy pulled out their chairs. Once seated, he took a pitcher of lemon water from another chef, pouring glasses for each.
"Enjoy your tea," he said, stepping back, beaming at Sora. "Now, about our dishes!"
Sora sipped the tangy-sweet lemonade. "Not bad. What's on offer?"
Paddy whipped out a notebook. "Our menu changes daily, depending on fresh catches. Today, we've got East Blue's largest abalone and shrimp, plus autumn mackerel from the Goren Kingdom."
He paused, then leaned in. "But the best stuff? A haul of Grand Line sea bass and lobster."
Seeing their eager eyes, Paddy's grin widened, gold coins dancing in his mind. "Care to try, sirs?"
He always pitched the premium. Top-tier ingredients came at a premium price, affordable only to the wealthy. Poor folks? They didn't even get lemon water in Paddy's book.
Ahua, buzzing since they'd arrived, couldn't hold back. "Forget ingredients—can your head chef, Zeff, cook for us?"
Zeff, a culinary legend from over a decade ago, had become East Blue's most celebrated chef at Baratie. Ahua, a chef himself (albeit a two-year novice), had heard his father praise Zeff endlessly. He craved a taste of the master's work, a benchmark for his own aspirations. Sure, he was a slacker, but cooking was his passion.
"No problem, sir!" Paddy boomed. "The customer is God. Zeff cooking? Done. Me dancing? Name it. Just…"
Sora chuckled at Paddy's hand-rubbing flattery. Despite his fierce look, the guy had a cute streak. "It'll cost extra, right?"
"Exactly!" Paddy grinned, unashamed. The head chef's dishes weren't priced like regular fare, and his own service fees? The more, the merrier.
"Alright, bring out your best dishes!" Sora waved him off, flashing hands adorned with gold rings—spoils from Krieg's ship. His neck dripped with gold chains, and he'd decked Ahua, Alo, and Ata in matching bling.
No wonder Paddy's so eager, Sora thought.
"Got it, sir! I'll get Zeff on it!" Paddy saluted. To him, customers were gods, and rich ones? Gods among gods. These nouveau riche types, oozing wealth, were his jackpot. He'd milk their beri dry.
"Pfft, just a bunch of nouveaux riches," muttered a nearby navy table, irked. Paddy hadn't been nearly as warm with them.
"Isn't the customer God?" one sneered. "You're playing favorites!"
"Excuse me, sirs, I'll be right back," Paddy told Sora's crew. Straightening, his smile vanished. He strolled to the navy table, lips curling into a fake grin. "Gentlemen, please keep it down. You're disturbing my valued guests."
To Paddy, customers had tiers. These navy men? Poor saps. He saw three types: penniless bums (hated, couldn't afford a crumb), budget diners (tolerated, got bread and soup), and the rich (his gods). Sora's crew? Gods above gods.
"Your bias is blatant!" a navy officer snapped.
"Is it?" Paddy said flatly.
"That fake smile? Anyone can see it. Now you're just annoyed," another growled. "What, we're not welcome?"
"Oh, really?" Paddy's grin widened, uglier than a sob. "Satisfied now?"
"Satisfied? You're even more fake!" The navy stood, roaring.
Paddy dropped the smile, his face hardening. "Gentlemen, I said, keep it down."
A former pirate, he didn't coddle navy—especially broke ones.
"What, you wanna fight?" they shouted, louder.
Their guns useless? Their uniforms meaningless? Some waiter dared glare at them? Unaware of Paddy's past as a no-name pirate, they saw only insolence.
(End of Chapter)