Coburn and Hector have gone to the Casa for lunch, and the result is about as well as you probably expected. As Jackson finishes up with Jacob, Diego arrives with more fresh meat for the BBQ of smacked butts. 
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Given the Casa’s culinary quality-contrary reputation, which was way worth woefully whipping its wayward wanton worker-wretches wickedly-well for, wriggling as worthless worms, Diego realizes a regular business model based on recommendation realistically won’t be on the cards till the rotten rubbish from the present menu card has long been forgotten by future fine food. In order to avoid bankruptcy meanwhile, the Casa can’t survive on the few unsuspecting passers-by, but(t) bitterly needs to score a large contract, a tall order given the remote rustic region has few large employers or other institutions, and all have their own kitchens or caterers of obviously superior quality. Catching up with them and rising even further to gastronomic star status is a long term dream at best, taking way longer then going bust instead, even if (new?) investors put up twice the present capital, so tests who whipping who into shape what for, when and where works well, although interesting and secretly surprisingly satisfactory to smart Spanish Sir’s sadist spanking streak, isn’t going to cut it (only abject all-aattire-abandoned agonizable adolescent arses), unless instrumental in a whole other business plan.
Clever Diego realizes as razor-sharp, razor-strop-armed realist, their best hope is the military garrison, where the messes are about to be closed indefinitely due to transformation of the kitchen into top-notch ITC facilities, and the next CO moving-in pending his take-over shortly. So senior Sir and his quartermaster are invited for a free stay, destined to convince them to award Casa the catering contracts, at least the lucrative one for the officers mess – alas, the first meals they are served prove again nearly inedible, hardly likely to be acceptable even for mere grunts, despite the crates of complimentary quality booze Diego brought as best bribe, offered at $1 to technically disqualify as corruption. Having done his homework on the base and its key officers, Diego realizes they bitterly regret the abolition of military CP, being big believers in bettering bad-boys-behaviour by baring and beating brat-butts bountifully and blazingly, as both were brought-up in Dixieland by lash-loving kin and soundly-spanking Southern school staff, seeing a scarlet-striped-simmering squirt-seat as superior study-&submission-stimulation.
So Diego counts to convince them craftily by claiming he’ll turn-around the wretched restaurant by a ruthless regime of rearing the rustic rascals to remarkably-reliable rearers- and rules-respect by relentless raw-reddening roast-rumping and rod-rides. As he secretly planned, when he pretends still to be researching how best to bare and beat brat-butts for blasting bad-boy-behaviour-bettering-benefit, the officers eagerly suggest he may take a page from the military CP history book they so sadly saw closed in barracks and bases, naturally leading to them working out ‘CP counselling clauses’ as a curious codicil for the catering contract, creating a ‘cooking cadets conditioning command’ counsellor post to be filled part-time by the retiring CO and a rotation of CP-experienced base officers to give regular ‘dacks-down deficient devilkin derriere-dooming due deserts demos’ on dozens of days of either random regularity or ‘basic bared-butt-beating’ initiations whenever restaurant staff starts a (first or sequel) contract, as required to work for the base catering, hence de facto at the Casa, and a VIP ‘state room’ reserved for the counsellor to stay in with meals and other room service, all complimentary, as well as the ‘free CP lessons’ they plan to dispense to the ‘drill duty’ devilkins destined to drop dacks there at expected command to ‘serve the standard side dish’ of spanking implements to each pre-qualified officer’s trouserless-tail-tormentor taste.
Diego has no doubt the contracts are as good as signed, so starts planning how to select which staff ‘deserves’ to be delegated for duly-dreaded doleful disciplinarian demos beyond their own contract codicil hazing, so it can double as part of training his sadly still seriously sub-standard staff to star restaurant standards in due time.