Synopsis
Vanessa tries to implement corporate efficiency by replacing the bistro's traditional, slow-cooked Christmas menu with trendy, fast-prep New York superfoods. William challenges her to a culinary cook-off to let the regular customers decide the holiday menu, leading to a crowded, high-stakes dinner rush that tests Vanessa's urban composure.
A Singapore Christmas - Chapter 2: A Recipe for Disaster
The morning sun had barely cleared the clay-tiled roofs of Katong when Vanessa marched into the bistro. She wore a crisp white sleeveless blouse, tailored trousers, and a sleek tablet tucked under her arm. Overnight, she had drafted a twenty-page corporate restructuring proposal. If she had to spend her holidays here, she would do it with maximum efficiency.
She found William in the kitchen. He was surrounded by giant metal pots, singing along to a classic Mariah Carey Christmas track playing from a scratched radio. The air smelled heavenly—a rich, deep blend of cinnamon, star anise, and slow-roasting pork belly.
"Turn that down, please," Vanessa said, tapping her digital stylus against her screen. "We need to talk strategy."
William wiped his hands on his apron, turning down the music with a grin. "Good morning to you too, Van. Want some breakfast? I’m testing a clove-infused legacy gravy for the Christmas Day feast."
"No time for gravy, William. I’ve reviewed the ledger. Your ingredient costs are astronomical," Vanessa declared, holding up her tablet. "You simmer sauces for eight hours. That wastes gas, time, and labor. To survive December, we need a complete operational pivot."
William crossed his arms, his smile fading. "This is a heritage Peranakan-Western fusion bistro. The slow cooking is the entire point. It’s what Ah Ma built."
"Ah Ma is gone, and the bank doesn't accept nostalgia for mortgage payments," Vanessa said bluntly, though a tiny pang of guilt hit her chest. "I’ve streamlined the menu. Out with the heavy, time-consuming claypot stews. In with high-margin, quick-assembly urban holiday dishes. Cranberry-kale power salads, turkey avocado wraps, and artisanal matcha eggnog."
William stared at her as if she had spoken in an alien language. "Kale? Van, this is Singapore. People come here for comfort food at Christmas, not rabbit food."
"It’s trendy, healthy, and takes two minutes to prep," Vanessa countered, stepping into his personal space. "We can triple our table turnover rate before the New Year."
William stepped closer too, his warmth radiating off him. He looked down at her with a mix of defiance and amusement. "Tell you what, corporate girl. The lunch crowd will be here in two hours. We do a split menu. You serve your New York holiday specials, I serve my traditional Christmas claypot rice. Whoever sells out first wins."
"Wins what?" Vanessa asked, narrowing her eyes.
"If I win, you throw that tablet in the trash and help me prep my traditional Christmas feast without complaining," William said, his dimple flashing. "If you win, we can talk about your kale wraps."
"Deal," Vanessa snapped. "Prepare to lose, chef."
By noon, the bistro was packed with locals seeking refuge from the midday heat. Regulars, from elderly uncles in batik shirts to young office workers, filled the marble tables. Vanessa stood confidently behind the counter, handing out sleek, printed menus showcasing her "Modern Manhattan Yuletide Leafy Bowls."
An hour later, the reality of restaurant service hit her like a tidal wave.
While William calmly managed his steaming claypots with practiced rhythm, Vanessa was drowning in orders she didn't know how to fulfill. The kitchen became a chaotic mess of spilled cranberries and wilted greens. Her hands shook as she tried to mass-produce avocado roses. Worse, the local customers were not impressed.
"Girl ah, why this Christmas salad so cold?" Auntie Florence, a neighborhood regular, complained loudly from table three. "Where is the gravy? Christmas must have gravy!"
Vanessa wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her pristine white blouse now stained with balsamic glaze. She looked over at William. He was effortlessly plating a beautiful, sizzling claypot filled with dark, fragrant rice, roasted turkey slices, and a rich, spiced gravy. The aroma wafting through the dining room was intoxicating.
"Table five wants to cancel their kale wrap and get the claypot instead," the young waiter called out, looking apologetically at Vanessa.
Vanessa looked at her digital dashboard. William’s dishes were flying out of the kitchen, while her expensive organic greens sat untouched on the counter. She had completely misjudged the heart of the neighborhood.
William walked over to her station, carrying a small bowl of his Christmas claypot rice and two spoons. He set it down between them.
"Take a break, Van," he said softly, his voice devoid of any smugness. "You’ve been running on New York time all morning. Just taste it."
Defeated and exhausted, Vanessa picked up a spoon. She took a bite of the warm, perfectly spiced rice. The flavors exploded on her tongue—savory, sweet, with a hint of smoky charred wood from the pot. It tasted exactly like the holidays she used to spend here as a child, back when she didn't worry about billable hours or corporate ladders. It tasted like home.
She looked up at William, her icy professional exterior cracking just a little bit under the warm glow of the bistro’s blinking Christmas lights.
