The Food Critic

“We must be ready for him when he arrives,” the chef said to his assistants. “That critic likes to eviscerate chefs with his pen.”

“Yes, chef.”

His staff set about their assigned tasks. Julia pulled a large case of blowfish out of the walk-in refrigerator and selected six perfect specimens. Patrick set about washing and preparing the eight ackee fruit that would go into the critic’s salad. Mary Beth, the prep cook, pulled a large basket of leafy greens off a shelf in the cooler and selected the finest leaves to line the bowl. Howard worked on rubbing off the large bag of deadly webcap and death cap mushrooms for the entree.

The chef watched as his assistants performed admirably under this pressure. He was very happy to have them in the kitchen with him.

Marco, the youngest prep cook in the kitchen that night, was relegated to preparing the rhubarb and cassava appetizer plate with accompanying stink bug, mopane worm and rabbit dropping puree for dipping.

The chef tasted Marco’s dipping sauce and scrunched up his nose. “It needs a little something extra.”

He grabbed a horseradish root and ground it over the dip. “Mmm, perfection.”

Gloria peeked her head into the kitchen and announced the critic had arrived and ordered the seafood special.

The chef sighed. It was make or break time for his restaurant. Gregor, the diswasher, fetched a new pail of water from the rubbish strewn stream that ran by them and put it in a cauldron over the campfire out back for the chef.

Brandishing a large pair of tongs, the chef walked down to the river and pulled out a large, mutated squid that appeared in these parts after the chemical plant opened upstream and dumped it into the cauldron.

Within minutes, the critic’s meal was ready. The chef sprinkled on curry powder, nutmeg, salt, and pepper as each bite size morsel was poked with a pointy chopstick. Gloria took out the first round, then the second, third, and forth rounds of food to the critic. The chef didn’t know where he was storing it all, but more importantly — or more curiously —  was where the chopstick were going. They were certainly not going back into the kitchen.

Finally after all one hundred tasty morsels were served, the critic simply stood up and walked out. All he left behind him was a five-star review and one dollar tip.

This was written for the M.M.H.B Challenge. The required ingredients are in bold.


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