Chapter 532: Chapter 532: Dinner After Surviving Disaster

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The seaside villa in Fenwick, Connecticut, had originally belonged to Katharine Hepburn’s father’s generation.

It had once been damaged by an Atlantic hurricane and later rebuilt.

Though Miss Hepburn’s younger brother’s family now lived there, the house was mostly occupied by elderly relatives.

The younger generation were away at school, or already working and living nearer to the city.

A place like this was either for vacations—

or retirement.

Since it wasn’t holiday season, the large house felt rather quiet.

Katharine’s family naturally welcomed their eldest daughter back warmly.

Henry, of course, wasn’t so tactless as to cook only for the old lady and leave everyone else to fend for themselves.

Together with several women of grandmotherly age—Katharine Hepburn’s nieces and nieces-in-law—he helped prepare a lavish dinner.

And naturally, the requested Beef Wellington was included.

In truth, the dish originated in French cuisine.

However, in 1815, the Duke of Wellington and the Prussian Marshal Blücher defeated Napoleon at Waterloo.

For a time, the Duke of Wellington’s fame in Britain was unrivaled.

Much like later generations slapping trendy names onto unrelated things to ride the wave of popularity, many items introduced into Britain during the early nineteenth century were rebranded with the name "Wellington."

Thus, a dish likely derived from the French Filet de bœuf en croûte was renamed Beef Wellington by the British.

Its preparation and flavor were also adjusted somewhat to suit British tastes.

...God knew what British tastes actually were.

That was simply what the culinary books claimed when Henry researched it.

So the dish itself really wasn’t bad.

Comparing it to true British dark cuisine like Stargazy Pie was honestly insulting to Beef Wellington.

But in terms of calories—

it was absolutely terrifying.

Prime filet, wrapped in rich mushroom duxelles, ham, and pastry, then baked crisp—

calling it a calorie bomb would be no exaggeration.

When Henry carried the Beef Wellington out to the table, every elderly guest looked both thrilled and terrified.

Yet not a single one of them was willing to give it up, even if eating one serving meant exercising for seven days afterward.

For wine, Henry selected an appropriate red from the Hepburn family cellar.

He didn’t have the strange habit of simply choosing the most expensive bottle.

A truly suitable pairing was one that harmonized with the dish, enhancing both flavors into something richer.

That was why hard liquor wasn’t ideal for meals like this.

Its overpowering taste flattened everything else into sameness.

For a Kryptonian who could never get drunk, finding the perfect balance between wine and food was the only real reason Henry ever wanted to drink.

And in a gathering where everyone except Henry and the nurse Maria Thomson was over sixty, it was inevitable that conversation drifted into stories of the past.

Especially amusing was watching the old folks expose each other’s embarrassing histories.

The gossip might not be fresh—

but it was entertaining.

At their age, everyone also spoke with a certain shameless freedom.

No topic was off-limits.

Henry even began to wonder whether he’d need to be silenced afterward.

Perhaps because they had spent too long reminiscing, someone suddenly shifted the topic to why Katharine had returned to Connecticut.

"How did that superhero suddenly go mad?"

"Attacking the military and ordinary people."

"Who knows?

"The ones calling him a superhero were the reporters.

"And the ones condemning that same ’superhero’ today are still those same reporters.

"If masked heroes can’t be trusted, then those who show their faces are only hiding deeper."

"Hah, I know that kind of line.

’If they run, they’re guilty Viet Cong. If they don’t run, they’re well-trained Viet Cong.’

That line deserves to be in the top one hundred movie quotes."

"Oh, you mean the list the American Film Institute just announced?

They copied the British this year and published a top one hundred films list.

I heard next year they’ll announce the top one hundred movie stars.

Katharine, will you make the list?"

Asked by one of her nieces, Katharine Hepburn answered with her usual grace.

"Who knows?

I’m not the one making the list.

It’s just a group of self-important people ranking others.

They only do such things to prove they stand above the people they rank.

At least the Oscars are decided by votes."

"Speaking of the Oscars, Henry," said one of Katharine’s nephews—old enough to be Henry’s grandfather—"this year’s big winner, Titanic, your company invested in that, didn’t it?"

Though Henry wasn’t quite at the level of an old family friend, these elders all knew who he was.

Their aunt cared greatly for this young man.

And Henry got along with them easily.

Naturally, they paid attention to him.

Henry didn’t hide something already publicly known.

"Yes, we invested in it.

And all the computer effects in the film were done by Stark Pictures."

"Oh?

Which parts were effects?

I couldn’t even tell."

Henry laughed.

"You don’t think everything we make looks obviously fake, do you?

Like Space Jam, where Bugs Bunny runs around everywhere."

"Isn’t that what special effects are?"

"Of course not. The difference is—"

He had just begun explaining the difference, and which scenes in Titanic used effects—

when a sudden rapid knocking sounded at the front door.

As the youngest person present, Henry stood.

"I’ll get it.

Were you expecting anyone tonight?"

All the old folks shook their heads.

"Coming."

Henry answered and walked quickly to the door.

He opened it—

Then immediately shut it again.

Turning back, he said casually:

"Wrong house. Ignore them."

The next second, the knocking became so rapid it sounded like one uninterrupted buzz.

Henry sighed, reopened the door, and complained:

"I didn’t know you had a woodpecker talent."

"Hi, Henry. Long time no see."

Standing outside was Pietro Django Maximoff.

Behind him stood a white woman with auburn wavy hair and emerald-green eyes.

The man greeting him was none other than the former X-Men speedster—Quicksilver.

Supposedly, he had already left that mutant little clique.

But who knew.

Most X-Men members came and went constantly.

Henry said helplessly:

"I really hope you’re not back with the X-Men and here to pass a message from Raven.

I’ve developed post-traumatic stress disorder toward people who can freely change their appearance."

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