Omnivorous

The Omnivore glowered across the table at the chef while their lawyers argued off to one side. He frowned at the plate on the table between them. The chef’s arms were folded, and she stared at The Omnivore with an angry smile, only occasionally glancing at the pair discussing their tangled legalities. She’d done her research and was comfortable she’d prevail.

“Is there a problem with your meal?” she asked sarcastically.

He refused to respond, turning his attention to the little black ledger that sat within reach of his right hand. He flipped the cover up, to the record of his first meal as a new food critic, many years ago.

Saltimbocca Pork Chops with Puréed Spinach and Baby Carrots

Idealistic, he’d yet to find a suitable hook to draw readers in, instead basing his reviews on honest and authentic opinions.

They were not, as his editor later said, “any good.”

The world was flooded with well-written, honest critiques of everything; anyone with a smartphone could filter a picture, blog it, and blast it out to their followers.

He needed that hook, and found it little more than year later, at the grand opening of someplace new and trendy. He found the correct ledger tab on the edge of the pages and turned to the meal record that he felt was somehow the first step in a journey that led him here; to this chef and her trap.

Arriving early, he milled about other waiting patrons, listening to the energetic buzz of the crowd, and sharing a glance with a couple other critics he recognized. He’d arrived hungry, anticipating an excellent meal; at least, based on the hype of the restaurant and its chef. Once the doors opened, people flowed inside to their tables and booths, guided by polite hosts. Drinks started flowing and his order went with others to be fired in the kitchen.

Balsamic Honey Glazed Salmon on Cedar Plank with New Potatoes and Crispy Asparagus

Once he began eating he was disappointed to discover, yet again, that the food fell short of the hype. The salmon was acceptable, but he felt the potatoes were under done, and the asparagus was too crispy for his palate. However, distracted by his unyielding disappointment, and mentally lost writing notes in his review journal, he accidentally ate everything remaining on the plate; not merely the rest of the food, but also the garnishes - including a whole lemon wedge - and everything else even remotely edible.

“Wow,” the young server said as she arrived to clear his plate. “You must have really loved that salmon!”

Startled from his musings, he looked down to see that he was literally gnawing on the cedar plank. Embarrassed, he set the plank down and stammered out an apology.

“Y-es, it was delightful,” he said, subtly closing his ledger.

“Quite hungry, weren’t you?” She took his plate and started off, smiling oddly at him. “Guess we’re just lucky you left us the plate.”

He was debating ordering a dessert to round out his review when he heard laughter floating out from the kitchen. Growing louder, the laughter arrived at his table in the form of the chef and his server.

“Tamara tells me you liked the salmon,” the chef bellowed jovially, causing several diners to turn and look at his table. “I haven’t laughed so hard in years. Your dinner’s on me.”

“Thank you, sir,” the critic said, embarrassed, gathering his things quickly.

“Come back any time!” The chef chuckled. “I’ve met some omnivores in my day, but you top them all.”

That night, writing his review for the restaurant, he’d found his hook. He savaged the restaurant, claiming that the cedar plank was the highlight of the evening; the food was so basic, he wrote, “that the wooden board fit right in.”

The restaurant limped along for a few months before shutting down. The Omnivore - as he now styled himself - felt a brief pang of guilt when he heard, but his reviews had become, as his editor would say, ‘good’.

Once he’d enjoyed a taste of success, he locked his teeth and didn’t let go. Some chefs welcomed his antics and reviews; they’d show a business spike simply by surviving his reviews relatively intact. He’d eat everything on the plate, within reason, and write the critique on it all; he found it harder to follow his youthful mantra of ‘honest and authentic’; the flavor of harsh criticism was too sweet.

He’d set some rules moving forward. Feeling that he’d be painting a target on his back, he tried to anticipate how restaurants might get their revenge.

Rule Number One was that he would not ingest anything that would cause him to break the law, or cause severe injury or illness. No endangered animals, or wine glasses of bleach paired with tilapia.

Chicken Skewers, Marinated in Antifreeze

The Omnivore called the police and quickly retained the services of a good lawyer to accompany him.

Rule Number Two was that the meal had to be prepared from ingredients used in meals that could be ordered on the standard menu - no weird “specials” hastily written or ingredients the restaurant didn’t use on a regular basis.

Filet of Sole with Braised Tongue and Shoestring Fries

The chef in question had chosen to source a cobbled boot for the meal, claiming that the “shoestrings”, “tongue”, and “sole” were all-natural leather and therefore edible, and were “listed” ingredients on his menu. The Omnivore was initially upset - less so than his lawyer - but quickly decided to meet the challenge set before him.

“Fine.” He said. “But if I eat this whole meal, then I eat for free here from now on.”

The chef laughed. “Done! But if you can’t finish, then you owe me twice the cost of the meal!”

The Omnivore would visit the restaurant occasionally for many years, and never paid. Eventually, he would dramatically increase his stakes in the wager to drive other chefs to challenge him; to be the chef to defeat “The Omnivore”.

Rule Number Three was that the meal had to be consumable in a reasonable sitting. Before instituting the rule The Omnivore had been training with extreme eaters on how to maximize his consumption in short periods of time, but his lawyer pointed out that restaurateurs could serve an enormous meal, then be legally required to close before he could finish it, costing him the bet.

Even with the binding contract that went out to chefs and restaurants before The Omnivore would eat there, some still tried to dodge the rules and catch some favorable press, often inviting local tv crews, with lots of videos and pictures posted to social media.

Grilled Cheeses with Tomato Soup

They wheeled the wash basin of soup in on casters and needed three servers to shoulder the weight of the sandwiches. The Omnivore’s lawyer referenced the rules which the restaurant had agreed to, and would not allow his client to begin the meal. To their credit, the restaurant had invited local homeless people to the restaurant before the challenge had even begun.

Rule Number Four stated that if any chef or restauranteur had any issues, they could appeal. If they were willing to *personally* prove that the meal in question was edible, then The Omnivore would either proceed or lose the challenge. By this time, a video crew had begun following the critic, documenting his interactions in anticipation of an upcoming review show on a food centric tv channel.

Slow-Cooked Beef Sandwich with Sweet Potato Fries and Spicy Remoulade

“You haven’t finished,” the chef said calmly, watching The Omnivore wipe the plate clean.

His lawyer pointed to the now clean plate and the empty ramekin. “He’s completed the challenge. Nothing edible remains.”

Reaching into his apron, the chef drew out a ramekin identical to the one in front of The Omnivore.

“As per the contract, I challenge that a ramekin can be an edible element of the meal.” A server appeared suddenly with clean linens and two solid mallets, and lay them neatly on the table, making sure the cameras caught their good side.

The lawyer whispered in The Omnivore’s ear for a few moments.

“He accepts your challenge.” The lawyer drew out two copies of a secondary contract, which both parties signed. “Standard wager continues; free meals versus quadruple the cost of the meal.”

Both the chef and The Omnivore wrapped their ramekins in the linens and began smashing them down.

The Omnivore enjoyed many free meals before the restaurant closed the following year.

As his slice of fame grew, opportunities appeared less frequently. He’d upped his reward significantly, just to keep challengers coming in the door and keep his brand growing.

When he’d heard rumors of a restaurant offering a challenge specifically for him, he tasked his lawyer with finding out the details. Once he had a copy of the menu containing the challenge, and quickly scanned its contents, The Omnivore could barely contain his excitement.

‘The Omnivorous Challenge: If The Omnivore is capable of finishing the meal provided, then he will leave the restaurant with $20,000 in cash. If he is unable to finish the meal, then he will pay the cost of the meal a hundred-fold.”

Once The Omnivore spoke with his lawyer, everything was set. Video crews were placed on standby, contracts sent, travel planned, and insurance riders purchased.

Nothing seemed out of place once they arrived at the restaurant. It had barely been open six months, and The Omnivore doubted that the chef would be able to provide much of a challenge. Building up their reputation through his involvement was a waste of his time, but $20,000 was very good bait.

He and his crew entered the restaurant and found the table with the best lighting, framing, and background. Once the cameras were set, he indicated that the chef should begin.

She would cook and serve at the table.

She arrived and began sautéing pieces of a small bird, seasoned with a variety of spices. As the meat cooked, she sliced radishes into roses, and began a garlic sauce in a pan. From her rolling cart she brought out a wide, shallow bowl, silverware, and a box the size of a grapefruit.

As the bird neared completion, she spooned some of the sauce into the bowl, and then opened the box. She pulled a tangle of shredded green paper from the box and crafted it like a nest in the center of the bowl. Radish garnishes surrounded the nest, and the cooked meat was set down gently on top of the paper nest.

His lawyer began arguing immediately.

The Omnivore overheard bits and pieces of the argument.

“...it’s illegal. You can’t deface...”

“No. It’s illegal for her to do it, and she’ll accept the consequences, if there are any. He cannot deface something that’s already...”

“...cocaine and feces!”

“...it’s uncirculated and was steamed in an autoclave prior to preparation...”

“...not in the menu!”

“...please refer to the ‘Blackbird Pot Pie’ and ‘Benjamin’s Bonanza Sundae’...”

“Well, it’s inedible.” The Omnivore watched the chef as she held up a $100 bill, shoved it in her mouth, and ate it angrily. She swallowed hard and flipped off the lawyer.

Shocked, The Omnivore’s lawyer finally spoke. “We are forced to accept the challenge.”

The Omnivore, pale, looked at his plate, at the cameras now focused tightly on his face and the meal, and finally, he looked at the chef across the table.

“Why,” he managed to whisper.

“It was my dad’s place,” Tamara said, pushing a cedar plank across the table. “He killed himself.”

The Omnivore stared at the slab of wood, dumbfounded. “Was my review unfair?” He looked into her face and saw the answer smoldering in her eyes; she didn’t care.

He took up his pen and wrote a new entry in his review ledger.

Crow Sauté, on a bed of $20,000, with Garlic Sauce and Radish Garnish