ambrosial
adjective
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Ken’s heart pounded. He had never been asked to meet with a diner before. Had he messed up somehow? Had he not cooked something right? When he got to the table, he saw a man in his mid 60’s, wearing a respectable suit and glasses with one darkened lens. A broach in the shape of two ravens cast in silver adorned his breath pocket, and his cufflinks looked like spear heads. The man’s one visible eye was closed, and Ken could see his mouth moving slowly behind his voluminous white beard.
“Sir? Is there something wrong with the meal?” Ken asked. He saw one of his T-bone steaks on a plate, with the potato and cooked vegetables, soaking in the sauce. There were several bites taken out of everything.
When the man swallowed, he opened his eye and looked at Ken. “Are you the chef who made this dish?”
“Y-Yes, sir, I am.”
“I see, so you’re the one responsible for this…this…” Ken held his breath as the gentleman sought the right word. This was the worst moment any chef could endure. Having one’s cooking blasted was a fate akin to death, and if this man was half as well off as he looked, could end Ken’s career. “This work of culinary art.”
“Uhhh…” Ken said. That was not what he expected. “Yes?”
“Wonderful, wonderful. Truly magnificent work, lad.” The diner slowly, almost reverently cut into the steak. He speared the piece with his fork and held it to his good eye. “Artistry, pure artistry on a plate. A mixture of flavors perfectly entwining with each other, without diluting the natural flavor of the meat. While the ingredients themselves are fairly lackluster, probably frozen, your skill has brought new life to them. Why, were I anyone else, I would swear this steak was living just yesterday.” He placed it in his mouth and slowly chewed, tilting his head back just slightly to allow the juices to flow down his throat. He moved on to the side dishes. “And these greens. I normally don’t eat such things unless my wife forces me to. But these? Ah, these are almost magical. Perfectly in sync with the entrĂ©e, working to support and elevate it, but creating a strong foundation that makes the meat truly shine, while being appealing all on their own. Magical. There is no other way to say it.”
Ken could not help but puff his chest out just a little bit. He had worked hard to learn to cook. It was good knowing there was someone who appreciated his skills.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”
The man looked at Ken. The chef swore he saw that eye glow for just a moment, but it could have just been a reflection off the lens of his glasses.
“You should come work for me.” He said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your talents are wasted in a place like this. You can be so much more. You can be a real chef, for the greatest of people. Not some common cook for those who don’t understand what you can do.”
“I…I don’t…”
“Of course, I understand. You need time to think. Here, take my card.” He said, extending the indicated object.
Ken took it. It had a name, Hovi, and a phone number on it. Nothing else.
“Call me when you’re ready to be a real chef.” The man, Hovi, apparently, nodded and went back to his meal.
“Yes, sir. I’ll think about it.” Ken said before heading back to the kitchen.
He pulled out the card again and looked at it a moment before he looked around the kitchen. It was not a bad place, sure. But it also was nothing special. Just a normal restaurant in a small city. He had no idea who this man was, but he definitely seemed rich, judging by his clothes. If he could make it in such a high class culinary world, why should he hold himself back? Why not take a risk. And if it did not pan out, he could always find another job somewhere else. He would do it. He would wait a few days, maybe do some research on Hovi. But he would call. He knew he could do better than this, and this was his chance to really do something great.
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Yeah, this is totally Odin, if you couldn't guess from the very subtle clues. Nothing quite like being the chef for the king of the Norse gods, right?
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