"WELL, WHAT IS IT!?" I ask as I glance at the plate. It looks so beautiful. Do I even eat it or is it the demo? All my expressions written on my face as I stare with intent at the meal the chef has just placed in front of me. One could obviously tell I had never been to a place of this caliber before. I mean, three different forks? Why can't I just wipe off the first one I used and reuse it? And what's with this fat spoon beside the little spoon? Like my mouth will get bigger as I eat...
By the time I figure out my place setting and meal, my company already had the chance to take in a portion of the culinary delectables placed in front of her. Foi gras & pâté. I pronounced it "Foy grass and pait." Boy was I incorrect. Who cares, doesn't a rose by another name taste red, or something like that? I notice my date's eyes are already closed from the internal experience happening in her mouth.
I sink my middle-sized fork into the dish and bring it to my nose. The scent activates my taste buds and I grow eager with anticipation as if the millisecond before my bite was mislabeled as an eternity. The second It arrives on my PaLATE, the last piece of French bread begs for my attention; I willingly surrender. The crunchy bread paired well with the fatty substance cradling my emotions and without hesitation I reach for my Pinot Noir. Now typically, I'd chug the glass but this feeling was just too good to rush. I took a sip. I opened my eyes and look around: I'm in Paris… Right across the street from the Touvré Eiffel. That's the Eiffel Tower for those who don't speak French. Which by the way is no surprise. I was here when I ordered my food.
I signal for the waiter. I need more bread but she is nowhere to be found. I want to compliment the chef but I have to finish this last bite. A few minutes pass and I politely rise from my seat to peak into the kitchen. Things are so hectic and calm that no one notices me. The bread is only but a coin toss away so I take a large step towards the scent and grab a loaf.
In the distance I hear "not again Chef, eating on the clock huh?" I ignore it and head back towards the door. Perfect escape, or so I thought. Right before I reach the threshold my server enters abruptly with my plate in her hand consisting of one bite of foi gras. She snatches the loaf from me and says "I need this, Table 78 wants to speak with you." My eyebrow raises as she slides the plate into my arms. "They said I took too long to come back..." she mumbles.
As I slide out the kitchen and approach the couple at the table, the gentleman stands and slides a note into my Chef coat... I look at him, then his note, and our eyes meet at the nearly empty plate. I solemnly ask, "well, what is it?"
Chef Belton shares his intimate thoughts and world experiences with his followers. These are the inspiration behind his culinary delights.