So, this "bread roll" thing? It's basically a sandwich—two slices of long bread stuffed with whatever filling you're craving, making a tasty little meal.
Honestly, North America's food scene is kind of a barren wasteland compared to the deep, endless variety of Chinese cuisine. If Ronan had one lingering obsession right now, it'd be those unforgettable Chinese dishes. But when it comes to food, he's always game to try new stuff. Back in the day, these flavors were just something he could "taste" through books.
Now? He's finally got the chance to experience them for real with his own taste buds. Cue the excited foot-tapping—like a fly rubbing its legs together!
In mailing addresses, "New Orleans, Louisiana" starts with "NO" and "LA"—put 'em together, and you get "NOLA." That's why locals lovingly call their city "Nola." And just like the name, this place has a vibe all its own.
The food culture's no exception.
To the average Joe, a "bread roll" is just a sandwich. But to the pros? Oh, you better correct that real quick.
"…You do know Nola's bread rolls have that Southern flair, right?"
Ronan's dead-serious stare left Cliff speechless. The guy just nodded, totally clueless, and shot desperate "help me" looks at Maxim and Ollie. Too bad—one was buried in the menu, the other was gawking at Ronan. No rescue there.
"Nola's bread rolls get baked a little extra, just enough to catch that slightly toasted wheat aroma—still chewy, but with a crispy crust that lingers on your lips. Even the way your teeth sink in feels different. This ain't your basic sandwich, no way."
Ronan licked his lips, swallowed hard, and you could see the hype building in his focused expression. The exhaustion under his eyes? Fading fast. He was buzzing with anticipation, practically radiating "let's do this!"
"Look, if you go for the roast beef roll, that charcoal-grilled beef drips rich, juicy goodness, soaking into the veggies layer by layer."
"And don't—don't—skip the cabbage. Some people pick it out like amateurs, but that crisp, sweet crunch? It balances the meat's grease without stealing its flavor. Plus, it adds this whole texture game to every bite."
"Tender beef, crunchy cabbage, and that soft, fragrant bread all together—it's a chew-fest of flavors. First, you hit the juicy broth, then the cabbage's sweetness, then the beef itself. Each layer's got its own vibe, all wrapped up in that deep wheat scent. It's unreal."
"And after you swallow? There's this clean, light aftertaste—not heavy, just enough to make you sit back and savor it."
By now, Ollie was gulping hard, his gulp-gulp echoing as he looked up at the waiter. "Hold up, I'm switching my order!" But instead of picking right away, he turned to Ronan. "What about the crawfish sausage roll? You're saying it's up there with the roast beef?"
"The crawfish sausage roll's bolder," Ronan said, hesitating a bit since he hadn't tried it. Still, he could picture it from the ingredients alone.
"Crawfish has this springy bite and a fresh, river-sweet taste—totally different from beef. Pair it with sausage, especially if it's one of those thin-skinned, juicy grilled ones? That chew's next-level. You'd hear it—snap, snap—like a symphony in your mouth."
By the end, Ronan was staring at the waiter, his eyes practically asking, So, what kind of sausage do you use?
"We go with German-style sausage—no bursting juices. But if you wanna try something different, we've got Nordic-style. The texture's a whole other story," the waiter replied, grinning wide. He was clearly vibing with Ronan's food breakdown—finally, a kindred spirit!
Ronan mulled it over like it was the most critical decision in the universe. "Alright, give me a crawfish sausage roll."
Back in Shanghai, it'd be peak crawfish season right now. He'd always figured folks in the West weren't into it—maybe even grossed out. Turns out, that's just a stereotype. Now he was curious: what's New Orleans' take on crawfish like?
Before, Ronan could only explore the world through braille books, radio, and TV—using his ears and imagination. Now, tasting it for real brought those grand mental images to life. Words couldn't even touch how wild that felt.
"Me, me! I want a roast beef roll!" Ollie jumped in, ditching his old order in a flash.
Maxim, who'd been listening intently but staying chill, went with… pizza. When Ronan and Ollie shot him judgy looks, he just shrugged, all confident. "I like pizza, okay? You didn't know? I'm picky—I only eat what I love."
The waiter collected their four orders, then flashed Ronan a big smile. "Welcome to Nola." He even winked, his tone warm and familiar, like Ronan's food rant had made the city proud.
Ronan grinned back, rubbing his hands together, buzzing with excitement. Tired? What tiredness? It was long gone from his face.
Orders finally in, the band could kick back and soak in the bar's vibe. Just a bit ago, they were the ones rocking the stage. Now, they were just part of the crowd below. The shift in perspective loosened them up, letting the good vibes flow.
By now, the bar was about 70% full, easing into dinner rush. The band on stage was raking in cheers and claps like it was nothing. Sure, their performance wasn't quite up to One Day King's level, but the place was buzzing even more than before.
No wonder opening acts get called "warm-ups."
Still, friendly glances kept coming their way. Other patrons clocked them as the crew who'd just killed it on stage and didn't hold back—smiles, claps, little gestures of props. Some even strolled over to say hi.
"Great show."
Short and sweet, like a "good evening" or "hey there"—a special greeting just for the band tonight. That was the best reward One Day King could ask for.
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