My Compliments to the Chef
PONSOL.
@karasyata liked for a starter: [X]Â
[â§ïŸïœ„*â*ïŸâ§ ] An accurate assessment, if heâd dare say so himself. Ponsol considered himself a connoisseur of excellent food. He tried food of all countries and styles. Though he may judge food based on smell and presentation, he truly focused on the taste. If it tasted good, regardless of where it came from, heâd appreciate the work that bore fruit in the form of the delicious meal.
   Many may judge food on presentation, price, and how fragrant food was, but that limited your options. One must try everything, or so, thatâs how he felt. Some of the greatest foods come from lesser known restaurants with unfortunate management, or poor locale.
    He had visited the âSalty Goatâ partly due to the name amusing him, but also due to the fact the reviews spoke highly of the food. Not one to base his opinions solely on what others claim as fact, he gave it a try himself. Needless to say, he was pleasantly surprised by the food.
    âI wonder who prepared this food. It was very well prepared.          Canât help but wonder if it was prepared by someone who          has gone to culinary school or was self-taught. Curious indeed. â
Pulling out a small notebook, he jotted down the name of the establishment, the food heâd ordered and his own comments on how he viewed the food. He enjoyed making his own book with his ratings of places. Who to better trust to understand your tastes than yourself?
    âExcuse me sir, would it be possible for me to speak with the chef? â
Misaki, for what it was worth, enjoyed his job. If he were being completely honest, Misaki would have to admit that he had been highly DOUBTFUL that heâd find a job he could consider tolerable after moving ( especially since he hadnât worked for someone since his days with his gang, whoâd felt like more of a family ). But heâd been lucky enough to score a job doing something he LOVED: cooking.
He was no good with new people, there was no doubt about that. Hell, he wasnât even good with people he already knew, sometimes. But in the kitchen, Misaki didnât have to worry about his âpeople skillsâ ( more accurately, the lack thereof ), only preparing the food. Sure, he occasionally had to run dishes out to customers, but that was TOLERABLE, for the most part.Â
And, admittedly, cooking was one of the few non-violent activities he was really good at. He had grown up cooking with his mother, so the art meant a lot to him. Misaki took pride in his cooking! It wasnât all too surprising when heâd landed a job as a chef in one of Bellevueâs low-key bars. It quaint, but busy enough that it kept him working.Â
That particular night hadnât been too bad, with only a few bursts of rushes here and there. Misaki had just wrapped up cooking before he began cleaning the bar out front ( a habit he developed after cleaning often in the bar in his old home ). Typically, people didnât bother him too much until he had another meal to prepare, but this time...Â
âHuh?â
The voice took him by surprise. He looked up with a jolt after realizing he was being spoken to, his brows scrunching ;; he wasnât the one who took the orders. But the customer didnât want another order, to his surprise. The customer wanted him. Misaki took great care in making sure all his meals were prepared to perfection, so he couldnât imagine there was a complain.Â
âThe chef? Yea, thatâs me. There a problem, or somethinâ?âÂ
