Leaflets such as this were almost archaic in nature in the upper parts of Midgar and the bustling industry of Junon. They were usually deemed poor man's communication in an age where dinner parties and sessions were conducted by phone and other means directly linked to the leaps and bounds of technology. It was here that Dr. Lecter found himself accosted by the young man's (@enokvirkow) eagerness to share his wares.
Pointer and thumb gripped the paper at the base, noting the handwritten description photocopied by the numbers. The composition he held showed signs of mass production by faded ink, the stack already low by the time it reached his hands.
"Is that so?" Even if Hannibal was part of the top social elite in both Midgar and Junon, his curiosity in the culinary arts permitted him to cross the lines on what would dub the mastery of amateur. Some of the most sumptuous meals granted to him were from those who wouldn't grace his cocktail parties. Old recipes were brought from foreign lands, ones that remained in the memory of their ancestors, and not so much was written in culinary books to share.
"That is a tall order for someone as young as you." That's not to say he didn't believe him. Even in his youth, he was conquering the medical field by sketching the deceased for use in books with such intricate details that they admitted him to the field with a full ride. One could surely relay such skills, as he did, in the form of cuisine.
His jacket had been slung over his forearm, suit pressed with nary a flaw, as he switched his focus from the piece of paper to the young man. "Where do you cook these meals?" The lad didn't have the aroma of squalor; quite the opposite. Hannibal could detect spices that were otherwise rare in imports; they permeated off his clothing as well as the light musk of smoke—cookery smoke.
Often, his nose knows best.
Running a small foodstall came with the need of advertising. And while usually Enok did so by mouth-to-mouth, this time he had actually managed to throw together a flyer. Listing all the available meals from his home islands and promising an entirely new taste-experience with herbs from far away Galahd. That flyer was handed out to almost every poor person crossing the grinning youngster's path. Even in this aloof neighbourhood, he tried his luck. Holding out a flyer to an elegant man, of which he didn't know that he had a certain talent with cooking, too. Though their worlds and cuisines clashing here couldn't be any more different. Enok wasn't aware of any of that, of course. "Sir, I can guarantee you have never tasted anything like this before. Not even the fine restaurants around here can keep up with my specials! Would be happy to one day cook for you!"