Dinnertime Food Crimes

First impressions: the menu was worryingly long. As was the young waitress’ uniform, but that could be forgiven. Apparel could be tarnished any number of ways both inside and outside of the kitchen, accidents happen. A five page menu was not an accident. It wasn’t just that it was long either, the big problem was that there was such a wide variety of dishes. From Italian pasta to American-style barbecue to Greek gyros (on a plate! Criminal!), the restaurant truly lived up to its name, ‘The World Wide Restaurant’. At least the wine selection was good.

‘Alright, ma’am! Have you had time to look through the menu yet or shall I come back later?’ The waitress, whose name appeared to be Leona according to the tag, seemed tired despite her welcoming smile. Must have had a busy day. I smile reassuringly.

‘I think I’ve got myself a good enough look. I have to say, it was a bit intimidating when I opened this, there’s so many options! Which one do you recommend: the linguini pasta, or the butter chicken?’ 

Her reaction was very telling. Her face twisted ever so slightly into a grimace, but quickly caught herself and made a humming sound like she was thinking.  

‘Out of those two? The linguini, I’d say.’

‘And out of all of them?’

‘I’d probably go with the tapas.’ she didn’t seem too convinced by her own words. 

‘Well, then I’ll have both the tapas and the butter chicken. Oh, and a glass of the Aurelia red.’

She didn’t seem too approving of my choices, and frankly, neither was I, but still she dutifully wrote them down. Once she was done, I expected her to walk away, but she didn't. She eyed me thoughtfully, then my notebook, which was on the table. Seemingly making up her mind, she bent down and spoke softly.  

‘You wouldn’t happen to be a reporter, ma’am? From the paper?’

I smiled. She was quick. ‘Food critic, to be precise. From our very own Inquisitor.’

‘I see.’ She paused, glanced around, then continued. ‘Then let me save you some time. The food here doesn’t taste very good.’

‘Well, can’t say I’m terribly surprised. This menu reeks of the throw-shit-on-wall technique and frankly, I’ve never seen that end well.’ I joked. 

The waitress shook her head.

‘It’s not just that. This place is not clean, it smells bad. Worse than any other place I’ve ever worked at, even though I clean it every day. We have mold in the basement, I’m sure of it!’ she cried, before catching herself. She sighed.

‘If you must do this, can you at least keep my name out of it? Boss would get so angry if he knew I told you. He doesn't believe me. He doesn't allow me down there to check.’ She begged. I nodded understandingly, and she took off towards the kitchen, notepad in one hand, menu in the other. 

After a couple of minutes she returned with the glass of red I’d ordered, but this time she said nothing more than the normal pleasantries one would usually get from someone of her profession, as if the previous conversation had never happened.  

Feeling almost dizzy, I wrote down our conversation. It made it feel a bit more real. My food had yet to arrive, so to pass the time I noted down my observations of the staff and the other guests. There weren’t many. There were three groups there, a family of four, a pair on a date, and the last group was a group of five visibly rich men in nice suits. They had just arrived.  Interestingly enough, the man who I presumed to be the owner by his chef’s attire and general demeanor came out and greeted them enthusiastically. He seemed to know them well, and they chatted loudly as wine bottles were brought out. What was odd was that despite the few guests, this restaurant seemed to have a huge staff. People came and went all over the place, and aside from Leona I don’t think I saw anyone twice. I noted that down as well.              

‘Are you enjoying your wine this fine evening, ma’am?’ a voice said, making me jump. The owner towered above me. He wore a pleasant, welcoming smile and yet I instantly wished I had never made his acquaintance. I forced a smile.

‘Very much. Your wine selection is excellent.’ 

He made a big show of being touched, and leaned in uncomfortably close. God, he smelled!

‘You make me blush! Well, I’m happy you think so, because I picked it out myself! My grandfather owned a vineyard when I was a boy, taught me all he knows!’ he puffed his chest up proudly. I nodded and leaned back in the chair.

‘I see! Did you get any of your wines from there then?’ I feigned interest. He laughed.

‘God no! He sold it years and years ago, and the whole area and then some ended up getting turned into pastures. No, I’ve picked out most of my wines by traveling and tasting them on site. And some were recommendations by trusted friends of course.’ he motioned towards the five wealthy  men. 

‘Wow.’ 

‘Indeed. Say, ma’am? You wouldn’t happen to be a cop or something, would you?’ he said, and sat down opposite me, still smiling.

I blinked, surprised.

‘Um, no.’

‘Good. You must be a reporter then.’ he motioned to my notebook, which plainly displayed all my thoughts I’d had since my arrival. I swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous. Why do I feel like I should have closed it earlier?

‘Food critic.’

He seemed amused. ‘Ah! Wonderful!’

I frowned, confused at his response. Restaurant owners were usually not very happy when they figured out my profession. I was somewhat infamous online for my brutally honest reviews. 

‘It is?’ 

He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Of course! You will bring us publicity, yes? Spread the news of our world wide food, say that here, there is something for everyone!’

‘Well, I hope so. I haven’t even tasted the food yet.’

He chuckled. ‘Oh, I have every faith. I mean, you like your job, right?’

I blinked. Was he doing what I thought he was doing? I took another sip of the wine.

‘I suppose. What does that have to do with anything?’ I said, feigning ignorance.

‘I mean that it might be difficult to find a new career path in a town where every other fella with a spatula has been burned by your reviews. I mean, I love them!’ he raised his hands, like he was just the messenger of bad news. ‘But the thing is, Theo over there may not be such a fan. And he is very well-connected.’ The one who I presumed was named Theo looked over and smirked. The owner continued on like nothing was amiss.   

‘For instance, I believe he is on the board of The Inquisitor. That is where you work, yes?’ 

So he really was doing it. The gall.

‘I see.’ I said stiffly.

‘I’m happy you do. It would be such a travesty, for a young talent like yours to be robbed of its opportunity to shine.’ he said, and stood up. ‘Now then, I better go make sure you get your food. I look forward to reading your review, Miss White.’ he said, before sauntering away to the kitchens.

I felt lightheaded, but didn’t dare move. I had been offered bribes before, but I had never been threatened. I would not recommend the experience. 

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later Leona appeared with my food. And as expected, it wasn’t very good. Not as horrible as I was expecting, I had certainly had worse, but I don’t think that counts for much when you’re in my business. As I told her how good my food was, despite my plate being virtually untouched, she smiled sadly, like she knew. But she didn’t, she really didn’t. I’d get to the bottom of this, whatever ‘this’ was. Walking out of the restaurant, I pulled up the number to an old friend of mine. Mr. Connoisseur in there was not the only one with contacts in useful places.   

Week later I published the article myself, ‘WORLD WIDE DRUG NETWORK’, alongside my actual review of their food, of course. I had just come off the phone with the cops. Apparently, there was a huge drug lab right under the kitchens for cooking methamphetamine. No wonder they were such lousy chefs, it wasn’t in their usual repertoire. My boss high-fived me proudly. We had a good relationship, and he had promised to take whatever heat came down from the board himself. Our only worry was that nobody named Theo had been arrested with the others, but that was a worry for another day.