A Chef’s Indulgence
Today is the day, you see. The feast, after weeks of meticulous planning, has arrived. Acquiring and preparing such unique ingredients takes months for the inexperienced. But that is not who I am. My staff is ready; I have no doubts. The few who survived my training are gravely aware of how heavily their careers hang on each meal we deliver. The significance of this meal, however, surpasses any in recent memory. I will linger for one additional minute of blissful anticipation before I get out of bed. Such weakness, truly. I am judging myself more than you are.
If you find my devoted desire strange, reconsider your career. I willfully walk the path demanded by my nature, lest I manifest hysteric irrelevance. Unified with my passion, I chase the euphoria attained only through culinary success. My epicurean zeal has but a singular flaw: the revolting vice it has on my heart. This is a love-hate relationship of the most carnal form.
Vigorous exercise is the sole remedy for this addiction, this dreadful obsession to which I shall not surrender. Fear is the fuel that burns within my muscles, lean and fierce. Imagine if I allowed myself indulgence without recompense. This bicycle would be useless, as would I. One more lap around this languid lake will suffice. My speed warns of a surging appetite. I must commence my commute before all composure is lost.
Look at this place, this house of butchers, overflowing with egotism to spare. Each delusional sellout supposes they are better than the next. They come seeking glory while claiming modesty. Liars and lunatics. They crave recognition for their talents, just like you, just like me. But rest assured, our similarities begin and end there. No other has my incisive eye for delectable specimens. Juicy tenderness hides in plain sight, yet no one sees. No other has my scrupulous capacity to carve. Sharpened steel severs like a razor, yet none can wield it.
In the race for my reverence, second to food alone is the sterilized, silver brilliance that blinds me upon my arrival. My mediocre minions know to polish and arrange my equipment before that time. Pans, tongs, every edged blade properly placed where I require. Innumerable fools have I terminated for their inability to prepare my tools, but these current vassals maintain a satisfactory record.
Stunning. This metallic magnificence pleases me, but do not presume to give these peasants praise. Who told them what to do? Who told them how to do it? Who punishes them if they fail? Indeed, I created this system, I perfected it. If their performance is faultless, it is because I willed it so. Now, for the final piece to fall into place, I must ready myself.
Hands scrubbed and dry, the tight embrace of an apron, a shining knife between my fingers, clean tissue to cleave — this is paradise. This is my heaven on Earth. Come, watch this blade, keen and unyielding, as it dives into fresh flesh. Observe the precision of my incision and the sanguine stream flowing from it. My mouth suspects it, my nose confirms it — this meat is prime. My prediction was unsurprisingly correct.
Temptation has returned, as it always does. I should remember that this feast is not for me but for others to savor. They shall soon discover the excellence of my expertise, but will they acknowledge it? No. They sit out there and pray to some god, asking for favor, begging for blessings. They thank a faceless ghost for gifts given by others. Is their god in here, executing this operation with impeccable attention to detail? Is their god rolling out their meat on an extravagant cart as if it were an auctioned antique? Where is this god, so almighty and worthy of worship? Nowhere that I can see or hear or feel. Can you? If they wish to applaud someone or something other than the one person who made everything possible, so be it. I will slice some succulence for myself.
While the entirety of this cut is delicious, this distinct section boasts an unparalleled taste. Oh, you find my thievery ill-advised? If you could experience the flavor yourself, you would understand. Even maximum risk could not impede my collection, yet I find myself facing fairer odds. Oblivious to its existence, the thankless lot awaiting my work will not miss this morsel. My witless workers, plagued with blindness, will fail to notice its absence. This riskless circumstance bodes no threat, but I thank you for your concern.
Allow me to further slash your faithless worry — I have no intention of relishing this treat here. My assistants, vacuous as they are, could spot that mistake. No, I will casually slip my reward into this small bag as if to dispose of it. But my prize shall never meet the refuse. Notice how it mysteriously finds its way to the safety of my satchel. And if anyone does begin to suspect me, they dare not question me.
With my treasure secure, today’s mission nears completion. The patron’s meat has been wheeled away; their gratification is imminent. Underlings rain awkward admirations upon me in celebration of my immaculately assembled meal. But these meaningless accolades are harmless in the shadow of my most regrettable responsibility — the follow-up.
Ah, there they sit, the all-important family. I always overhear their attempts to discuss what they think they know about my job. Their cluelessness is laughably embarrassing. Look, like a flock of pathetic pigeons, they are both excited and nervous as I approach. Their fear would be delightful if I did not have to speak to them.
“Are you the Parker family?” An obvious inquiry compelled by courteous custom.
“Yes, we are. Is everything okay?”
The father asks inane questions. Of course everything is okay. I am the best at what I do, a fact lost on this man. His children are in store for an abysmal adolescence. “Yes, your wife is doing well. We removed the small portion of her liver containing the cysts, as well as some of the surrounding tissue for good measure.” Should I tell him? “She is in the recovery room now. The nurse will retrieve you when she is ready for visitors.”
“Thanks, miss doctor lady!”
I have no words for children. Ugh, it continues to look at me. Fine, you wretched goblin, have a spiteful smile.
“Yes, thank you so much, doctor! You’re a lifesaver!”
And a liver saver. “You are welcome, sir. Have a nice day.”
My soul is charred after that hellish eternity of pleasantries. No matter, it is time to journey home. At long last, I can devour my delicacy.
Would you like to join me?
