Cloyingly Sweet

"Heh, no wonder business is so bad."

Lin Mo commented bluntly, picking up a fork and cutting off a small piece of matcha Basque cheesecake.

He took a bite of the cake.

An unreasonable cloying sweetness instantly swept through his entire mouth. It was sickeningly sweet, catching him completely off guard.

Had it not been for the faint, lingering bitterness of the matcha filling desperately fighting back to neutralize this storm of sweetness, Lin Mo had no doubt he would have thrown up right then and there.

Expressionless, he put down the fork and picked up the twenty-yuan macaron.

The legendary "maiden's breast."

He placed it in his mouth and took a gentle bite.

The next second, Lin Mo's expression froze.

A sweetness twice as fierce as the Basque cake from earlier poured straight down his throat like saccharin-laced syrup.

What maiden's breast?

This was fucking like an old man's foot-wiping cloth—dry, sickeningly sweet, and crumbly!

Fighting the urge to gag, Lin Mo turned to look at the waitress, who was holding her breath while observing his reaction. His voice betrayed no emotion.

"Does your boss add sugar to her desserts by the ton?"

The waitress was amused by his bizarre analogy and wanted to laugh but didn't dare. She could only nod frantically, her face written with the excitement of "you finally hit the nail on the head."

But then, like a deflated balloon, she drooped her head and whispered dejectedly, "I... I've told her before. But the boss said I don't understand, and that this is exactly how truly high-class desserts should taste."

"Don't understand?"

Lin Mo's gaze passed over her and once again landed on the bright glass window of the back kitchen.

Inside the kitchen, the atmosphere was somewhat stagnant.

The female boss was looking at the recipe sheet in Chu Miaomiao's hand.

"No, your sugar ratio is completely wrong." The female boss's voice carried a trace of unquestionable professional arrogance.

"You are making a Genoise cake, not an ordinary sponge cake. Sugar is the key to stabilizing the egg batter's structure. With this amount, it won't hold up at all."

However, Chu Miaomiao, who was engrossed in her work, raised her head, her eyes clear and determined.

"No."

She refused cleanly and decisively. "My mom doesn't like cake bases that are too sweet, and I am certain that this amount of sugar is enough."

After speaking, she ignored the Le Cordon Bleu chef. Her hands didn't stop moving as she cracked eggs into the bowl, her posture focused and skilled.

This was the insight she had figured out through long-term practice; it was a taste code unique to her and her family.

Long before this day arrived, she had already practiced it secretly many times.

The female boss's face darkened. Just as she was about to reach out and intervene, the kitchen door was pushed open from the outside.

Lin Mo walked in.

He stood directly beside Chu Miaomiao, acting like an invisible wall that blocked the female boss's scrutinizing gaze.

The female boss frowned, somewhat displeased by this man who had suddenly barged in, but she held onto her patience, preparing to continue her professional guidance of Chu Miaomiao.

"Boss Yue, stop pestering her here. Strictly speaking, I paid to rent your kitchen, not to have you pointing fingers and giving orders."

Lin Mo spoke first. His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake.

He glanced at the female boss. "I've eaten the desserts she makes. They taste much better than yours."

As his words fell, the air in the kitchen seemed to freeze.

The sheer audacity!

This was simply launching the most direct provocation at a Le Cordon Bleu pastry chef right in her area of professional expertise!

The female boss was stunned at first, then, as if she had heard the biggest joke in the world, a cold sneer tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She looked Lin Mo and Chu Miaomiao up and down, and as if suddenly realizing something, she attributed his words to the blind flattery between lovers.

"Is that so?" she said with sarcasm. "Then I'll go get one of my creations right now and let you taste for yourself what a real dessert is."

"No need."

Lin Mo rejected her without a second thought. He even exaggeratedly sucked his teeth, looking as if he were still suffering from lingering trauma.

"Your macarons are so sweet that the old man downstairs from my place would have to do two sets of military martial arts routines just to burn off those calories."

These words were incredibly sarcastic, yet Lin Mo's expression was utterly serious, as if he were stating an objective fact.

Yue Yiqing's face instantly flushed red, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Obviously, Lin Mo wasn't the first person to say her macarons were too sweet, nor would he be the last.

"What do you know? This is authentic Gallic pastry."

Lin Mo sneered, "Oh, it's far too authentic. It's just us normal folks who don't know how to appreciate it. Even McDonald's and KFC are willing to localize; what makes you think Gallic pastries don't need any modification here?"

He took a step forward, not losing out in momentum in the slightest.

"You should know that General Tso's Chicken was specifically modified for foreigners. So what gives you the right to think that your Gallic pastries can just waltz in here completely unchanged?"

Lin Mo's words hit the nail on the head.

In all fairness, Boss Yue's macarons were technically impeccable, whether it was the appearance, the crisp shell, or the feet.

The problem lay in the taste. It was too sweet, cloyingly sweet. She had completely copied the foreign recipe without considering the flavor preferences of the locals at all.

It was like moving the most authentic Sichuan and Chongqing nine-grid hot pot completely unchanged to the eastern Guangdong region, where people couldn't handle spicy food. That wouldn't be a delicacy; it would be a torture to the eastern Guangdong taste buds.

"You..." Yue Yiqing was left speechless by him, her face turning a mix of pale and green.

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a reassuring power.

Chu Miaomiao's previously tense shoulders quietly relaxed. She glanced at Lin Mo, a hint of warmth rising in her eyes, and then nodded heavily.

"You sound like some stubborn old man insisting that the laws of the ancestors cannot be changed. No wonder you have no customers," Lin Mo turned back to mock Yue Yiqing.

The female boss bit her lower lip tightly. His other words hadn't hurt her too much, but after this combination of punches, she had no room to fight back.

She had been open for three months.

Three months since opening the shop.

In the first month, it was bustling with people, all coming for her reputation.

In the following two months, it was completely deserted.

It wasn't that no one had told her that some of her desserts were too sweet.

But she stubbornly believed in her professionalism. Those were the gold-medal recipes she had brought back from prestigious schools abroad; how could they be wrong?

"Ding-a-ling."

The welcoming bell at the door rang crisply, interrupting her thoughts as a mother and son walked in.

The mother looked appropriately dressed, exuding a bejeweled and wealthy aura.

The mother was wearing a well-tailored Chanel suit, and the gemstone bracelet on her wrist reflected fragmented light under the lamps. At a glance, it was obvious she was either rich or noble.

The boy beside her was about seven or eight years old, curiously observing everything in the shop.

They were regular customers.

The waitress's eyes lit up, and she hurried over to greet them, plastering her most enthusiastic smile on her face.

"Mrs. Lin, you're here! What would you like to have today?"

The woman called Mrs. Lin crouched down elegantly, adjusted her son's collar, and said softly, "Baby, go pick out what you want to eat."