think everyone on this day thought I was a legit food critic cause I dressed the part & was a party of 1.
Every costumer is a food critic but it was a certain energy the staff gave me so guess what, imma act like a certified food critic, an a certified food critic that can say I would have enjoyed a 5 dollar hot & ready from little Cesar's more than the food I was served that day.
As I sat there waiting for my appetizer, an older gentleman struck a conversation by saying he would love to have dinner with me while his beautiful wife was apologizing on the behalf of his liquor intake. They talked about how they supported the business for~40 years & how they visit the area for vacation from time to time, while also trying to pry answers on how l like the food, by that time l've already had my appetizer.
As I looked around getting a sense of the ambiance, I noticed multiple achievements on the wall throughout the years & a newspaper article talking about how amazing the restaurant is. Honestly I couldn't help but think they're over compensating, still kept an open mind tho. My waiter poured my selection of choice, "the prisoner" (great wine btw). This is where the certain energy comes into play cause I felt though as if the whole restaurant stopped to observe if I was a legit food critic. Cause how you approach a glass of wine is a dead giveaway. After my first sip I felt the need to compliment it & talked about the name matching the taste (cracked under pressure) cause the owner & the staff surrounded my table at a distance tho.
He starts showing me different art covers & names of the wine he had & said the wine I chose was actually the most popular. Shortly after, my main course arrived, and many more sips of wine, having small talk with the lovely couple in between & observing the type of ppl that were coming & going, it was giving Sopranos tbh Imao. But to cut it short & sweet amazing staff & attentive (ofc), the environment was good, food overall was way too salty, down to the bread even. But the WINE, superior 🤌🏾. As I'm writing this I'm wanting a bottle right now. 1/10 based on the food, l'd give it a solid 5
-The Food Critic
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chef!sukuna who’s still lower in the rank than he wants to be, but so close to being a sous. tonight is his night to do the night’s special dish, finally. he earned this. he knew that if the head chef just let him, he could create the best dish ever served at this damn place.
so, he does just that.
he’s immediately scolded, the dish uses too many ingredients, the head says. too much to prepare. too ambitious. even though he used all of the left over ingredients from the menu’s usuals. 0% waste, 0% additional cost.
sukuna curses, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette. “make sure no table gets that shit,” he hears, with his fists clenching at his sides. ill go to the gym after this, he thinks, yeah, punch the fuck out of that bag.
it turns out that only table 8 has the dish, your table. the server messed up and now they’re crying in the back to the porter because they’ve been fired on the spot. “i told you not to fucking take it! have you never done expo-“
sukuna stalks calmly to the shaking waiter, “show me table eight-“ he sighs, levelling the head chef with a glare, sukuna was much larger, much stronger than him, difference in rank or not. he stood down, stalking down the other side of the kitchen with a huff. “ignore him, i wanna see who’s eating my dish, come on, let’s go.”
a reassuring pat to the shoulder from sukuna was almost enough to make him cry even more. sukuna kind of hated everyone.
“just there, chef. the couple, bedside the pillar on the left…its um…her, chef.” he grins, watching how transfixed the normally gruff man is, “your girl heh heh.”
“shut up,” he says, but he smiles a little.
he watches you, sat opposite some guy you hardly look interested in, you’re beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, as always, his eyes are drawn to you, no other woman could compare.
he watches you slice through his dish, the fork at your lips, as soon as it reaches your mouth you make a noise of such rapture, a sudden quiet falls upon the floor of the restaurant.
it’s almost weird how heat rushes low at the sight and the sound, he can’t remember the last time anyone else fired him up like this. he never took himself to have any kind of food fetish, either. yet watching you eat his dishes always seems to be an erotic exchange he never anticipates.
“oh…him? think they’re married?”
“i don’t think so.”
that man seems to hiss at you, eyes on his watch, barely touching his dish. “i wanted pizza downtown, god.”
you shake your hand in dismissal, shoving another forkful in your mouth. “i wanted this, i always want this.”
sukuna let’s out a breathy fuck, and the server practically faints.
no one was immune to sukuna’s charm, then, it seemed.
“oh, fuck, table 7 saw me. fuck, chef ive already been fire-“
“go and give them a reason not to fire you. go, go to your table kid, it’s still yours, right?”
the table beside you seems to have called him over, asking for the same dish you seem to believe has came from heaven, telling anybody who asks.
sukuna can’t help but enjoy the lively affair, as the restaurant manager tries to explain over and over to more and more tables that the chef special has been cancelled. oh, how he loved this little bit of chaos.
“why?” your voice clatters through the cacophony like a piece of silverware on crockery. “this dish is phenomenal, the best ive ever eaten here and in this city, in this country-“
“miss-“
“taste it! can you not taste the hard work? the thought? its the best thing ive ever eaten. the chef who made this has impeccable taste and talent.”
your laughter rings through the place at your partners embarrassment. sukuna is about to pry himself away and head back into the kitchen, leaning on the side of the bar and then…your eyes meet, another forkful is waiting before those glossed lips. another sweet sound of joy rings through the air.
now you see him, huh?
your smile is sweeter than agave, “it’s you.”
your words are lost on everyone around you, but to sukuna he hears them as if you whispered them right against his ear.
sukuna was a tall, broad, and unquestionably handsome man, unmissable out of his chef whites, invisible in them, somehow. obscured by the ambient lighting of the restaurant.
you near him, like a moth to a flame, a sensual air to the way your hips flick toward him. “you-“
the head chef storms through to the restaurant floor, the door slamming you both into the corresponding wall. his large arms wrap around you, his hand cups the back of your head.
he slowly retracts his hand, and your chest rises as you resist the urge to press your cheekbone into his palm, “are you okay?”
his voice is deep and addicting, dark and dripping down your throat.
you’re beaming at him, like he’s an angel, like he’s somebody you already adore. he gifts you a lover’s laugh, “you seem to be the only satisfied person in the building tonight.”
“seems like you’ve satisfied me sir.” you wink, still letting his aura press you into the wall, he cages you in with his arms.
“oh?”
“last thursday. that soup, you made it, didn’t you…?”
“sukuna,” he answers for you, “maybe.”
“seafood special last month?”
“yes, and your name?”
for some reason he’s out of breath, you’re so close, so fancy in your silk dress, clad in jewellery that sparkles even under these dimmed lights. “reader, you…you’re a genius.”
“so you came to thank me personally?” he leans closer, swiping sauce from the corner of your lip. it lingers on his thumb, his eyes chase yours as he licks it. “how sweet of you.”
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