When they left the kitchen, Evan was hit by a sudden shift in atmosphere. Every member of the staff was moving nervously. Everyone was suddenly tense. Waiters were frantically smoothing every wrinkle in their uniforms. They kept nervously checking plates, as if searching for any possible fingerprint. Shouts came from the kitchen.
"Line them up evenly! Symmetrically!"
"Watch the temperature!"
"Be careful with the seasoning! Season to perfection!"
"If you screw this up, you'll be on tomorrow's menu!"
Evan wondered what was going on. The atmosphere had done a full 180 and thrown in a few somersaults for good measure.
"What's happening?" He just stared wide-eyed.
Dorian looked over his staff.
"Exactly! What is going on?!"
One employee stepped in front of him. He stood straight, but was shaking like jelly. The boy was disturbed by his expression — he looked like someone standing under a gallows with a noose around his neck, or on his way to a processing plant.
"Sir… O… O… Octavian Porcelli just walked into the dining room and ordered a table for one! Madam is currently attending to him! I'm running upstairs to change!"
Callisa sprinted down the hallway. Dorian stood frozen, staring at the wall separating the corridor from the dining area.
"Porcelli… of course. I should have guessed. He's surprised me again." He crossed his arms and thought for a moment.
"Is he a member of the council?"
"No, Evan. Porcelli is a culinary critic. The best of the best."
"Seriously?" Evan looked at the total chaos around him. "And that's why all this is happening?"
Someone poked their head out of the kitchen.
"Do you even realize what you're saying?! With one bite he can break a dish down into its fundamental components!"
"They say there's an 86% chance that Porcelli can identify every single ingredient in your dish!" The speaker started shaking. "I heard that Master Ausburg kept the recipe for his secret twenty-three-spice blend completely confidential, and Porcelli guessed every single one just from the smell."
Someone else shouted:
"I heard Porcelli once detected cheap oil and a few other things in a sauce that cost over 300 złoty in an insanely expensive restaurant—" Sweat poured down the man's face. "—they went bankrupt less than a month later…"
They showed him a phone screen. It displayed a social media account full of food photos. Every post had tens of thousands of shares, hundreds or even thousands of comments, and hundreds of thousands of likes. The follower count was in the millions.
"The internet doesn't lie! Porcelli's word is the word of the world!"
A young kitchen helper spoke up from behind a counter:
"Remember when artichokes were unpopular? Porcelli praised one artichoke dish once and suddenly everyone started cooking with them."
One of the cooks was now completely soaked in sweat.
"Porcelli will dissect your dish into its basic elements and write his review… He doesn't issue judgments lightly… Nothing can bribe him… Nothing can change his mind."
A raven waiter suddenly turned white as snow.
"Nothing escapes his eyes. He notices everything and subjects it to judgment."
All together they said:
"His word can make you or destroy you!"
They spoke as if awaiting a court verdict, then scattered with terrified expressions. Their eyes screamed: "Porcelli has arrived!!!"
Dorian stood unmoved, like a lighthouse on a rock defying the waves. But there was clear tension in his eyes. He sighed.
"He never makes reservations. He appears like a bolt from the blue." He cleared his throat and addressed the staff: "Stay calm. Nerves lead to mistakes, and we can't afford any. Notify me the moment his order comes in."
Evan watched everything in shock. A legendary culinary critic. Dorian lowered his head and began muttering.
"To think he came from a small farm in the middle of nowhere, and during his studies he ate in cheap bars. Where did he even come from? How did he train such talent?"
Dorian kept talking and talking. Stress was turning into words until Evan finally spoke up.
"Incredible."
"Indeed." Dorian looked at him. "You aspire to be a chef, don't you?!"
Evan scratched the back of his head. In the past he would have answered without hesitation, but after his conversation with Arslan about the realities of the culinary world, he no longer felt so confident.
"Maybe you could cook him your beetroot burger? Then you could ask him if you really have potential. It might help you in life."
Evan looked at Dorian, thought for a moment, and then agreed.
"You can use my private kitchen. I'll inform Porcelli. Rick will help you with the ingredients."
He pointed to one of the kitchen helpers and then headed to the dining room.
After what felt like a small eternity to Evan, he stood in the dining room wearing a white chef's coat. Dorian stood beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Callisa watching through the doorway. At the table in front of them sat a pigman. He sat upright with his snout held high. He wore an expensive vest, suit trousers, and shoes polished to a mirror shine. A monocle hung from his left eye. A cane leaned against the table. Next to him lay a notebook and a fountain pen.
"So this is your guest, Dorian?"
The master chef pointed at Evan.
"I'm Evan Smith. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Porcelli."
The critic sized him up with a glance. He showed no particular reaction — no disbelief, no excitement. He behaved as if he were simply evaluating another chef.
"I've heard about you. The new human in Carnivore." He said it as casually as if confirming a weather forecast he had read online. "So, what have you prepared for me?"
Evan placed the tray in front of him. Porcelli examined its contents. Surprise appeared on his face. A burger, sweet potato fries, coleslaw, and beer.
"Really… you must be…" He suddenly stopped. His snout began moving intensely. He looked at the burger as if it were a simple wooden box hiding a precious gem.
He picked up the burger with both hands, smelled it, then took a bite. He ate in silence, but his eyes revealed everything. A thorough analysis was taking place in his mind. He was like a Nobel Prize-winning physicist analyzing the universe at the quantum level using string theory. One could almost feel the aura of analysis surrounding him.
Then he took the beer. He studied its color for a moment, smelled it, and took a sip.
He stabbed a fry with his fork, examined it, and ate it.
He tried the coleslaw.
He analyzed every reaction of his palate. Every aroma. Every sound. Every texture. Every flavor.
From time to time he noted something in his notebook.
Finally, he finished. He gently set down his cutlery and looked at Evan. The boy felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.
"I must admit, you surprised me. Chefs usually stick strictly to the meat vs. vegetarian divide. You went one step further. You gave the beet the emotion of meat without making it meat. That's smoking, correct?"
Evan could only nod.
"A very interesting idea. From the taste, I'd say you used a general smoking blend. If you changed the type of wood, you could achieve a more distinctive flavor profile."
At that moment, Evan thought about applewood or hickory smoke… maybe hickory… it should pair well with the beer.
"I detect heavily caramelized onions, breadcrumbs, and black beans. However, there are two main issues. The first is the oil. It added a slight bitterness."
Evan mentally scolded himself. There had been rapeseed oil right there, but he had tried to act fancy.
"Additionally, the skin on the fries is slightly over-browned."
He pointed at the empty fry plate.
"Good choice with the sweet potatoes. Unfortunately, they're easy to overcook. Yours aren't too soft, but they could be crispier."
Evan thought about baking and frying — maybe double-frying. The critic tapped the beer mug.
"Smoky beer… an excellent choice. It pairs perfectly with the burger and fries."
Evan breathed a small sigh of relief. Octavian pointed to the empty coleslaw bowl.
"The coleslaw balances the heaviness of the other dishes well, although there's a bit too much vinegar and mayonnaise."
The critic looked at Evan, who suddenly tensed up.
"You didn't avoid mistakes, but you deserve sincere praise. You created a cohesive menu based on the concept of smoke. Many chefs focus only on the main dish. You presented a complete, consistent experience. Congratulations. Well done."
Evan exhaled.
"Tell me, young man, are you considering a culinary career?"
The boy glanced sideways once or twice before looking at the critic.
"Director Arslan told me about the demands of the culinary world, so…"
"Master Arslan Flambe… Yes… a true master of process… Lord of deep and heavy flavors… old school control and fire…" He looked at Evan carefully, light reflecting in his monocle. "You have the potential to become a chef. Consider it."
"Thank you." Evan bowed with genuine gratitude.
"You know the saying: The best chefs prove themselves both in the kitchen and on the table."
Evan bowed again. Porcelli adjusted his monocle.
"Usually chefs tremble a little when told something like that. You remained completely calm."
Dorian glanced sideways at Evan, who answered without hesitation:
"I've already been eaten several times. Some attempts were even illegal. Besides, I live surrounded by predators."
The pigman thought for a moment.
"Illegal… ah, Aurelia Albentine. I heard about that. It must have been a truly unpleasant incident."
"It was, but if I worried about every attempt to eat me, I'd go crazy eventually."
Porcelli nodded.
"That's possible. Do you know why they say a good chef proves himself both in the kitchen and on the table?"
Evan shook his head.
"His passion, experience, spices, and ingredients seep into him. The greater his passion for cooking or… for ingredients — especially meat — the deeper it penetrates him."
Evan listened, completely captivated.
"It's not only in their meat, young man. It's also in their blood, bones, skin, and especially in their souls."
Porcelli drifted off for a moment.
"I once had the opportunity to taste someone like that. That flavor cannot be compared to anything else. There are no words to describe it. It can only be experienced."
For a moment Evan felt as if he were listening to some religious prophet. It was as if this was how one ascended to a higher level of existence.
"I recommend one thing to you. Find a master chef who will properly train you and help you become a true chef. If that's not possible, then I recommend finding a chef who will cook you perfectly."
He looked at Evan and smiled sincerely.
"Someone with such talent should either be a chef… or a dish."
Evan bowed, his heart full of well-roasted gratitude dripping with admiration.