# Chapter 1: The Chef's Special

Gregory adjusted his tie as he stood outside the restaurant. The place didn't look fancy from the outside—just a plain door with a small sign that read "The Experience." No prices listed, no menu displayed. That's how he knew it was expensive.

"Are we in the right place?" Jessica asked, checking her phone again. She looked beautiful tonight in her black dress. Gregory had bought it for her last week, after his latest crypto venture paid off big.

"This is it," he said, double-checking the address. "Most exclusive restaurant in the city. They only take one reservation at a time. The whole place just for us."

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "One table? That's different."

"Not even a table. It's like those standing sushi places, but way more exclusive. The chef cooks right in front of you. Whatever you want." Gregory puffed his chest a little. Getting this reservation hadn't been easy. He had to pay someone who knew someone just to get on the waiting list.

He pushed the door open, and a small bell chimed. The interior was minimalist—just a long wooden counter with two high chairs facing a cooking area. Behind it stood a man with a shaved head and a white apron. No sous chefs, no waitstaff, no other diners. The chef looked up at them and nodded.

"Good evening," the chef said. His voice was deep, with an accent Gregory couldn't place. "Mr. Marshall and guest?"

"That's us," Gregory replied, helping Jessica onto one of the high stools. The seat was uncomfortable, but Gregory didn't mind. Discomfort was often part of exclusivity. "I've heard amazing things about this place."

The chef nodded again but said nothing. He seemed to be studying them, his eyes moving slowly from Gregory's face to Jessica's, then back again. Gregory felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze, but he reminded himself that this was all part of the experience. The best things in life made you a little uncomfortable sometimes.

"So how does this work exactly?" Gregory asked after a moment of silence. "Do we order, or is there a set menu, or...?"

The chef placed his palms flat on the counter. "I will prepare what I feel is appropriate for the guests. Each experience is unique."

That sounded perfect to Gregory. Unique was what he was paying for. He'd made enough money from his latest crypto project to afford something special. Sure, essentially it was just moving money from new investors to pay off the early ones, but everybody was doing it these days. And anyway, the new token he created might actually take off. Stranger things had happened in crypto.

"Wonderful," Gregory said, glancing at Jessica to make sure she was impressed. She smiled back at him, though she looked a bit uncertain. "We're in your hands."

The chef nodded solemnly. "Then let us begin."

Gregory felt a thrill of anticipation. This was going to be amazing. Maybe the chef would pull out some exotic ingredients, or use molecular gastronomy techniques he'd seen on those Netflix food shows. Something with smoke or fire or liquid nitrogen.

Instead, the chef reached under the counter and brought out a bottle of clear liquid and three shot glasses. He set the glasses in a row and filled each one to the brim.

"Vodka," the chef announced. "Russian. 50% alcohol. The beginning of our journey."

Gregory blinked in surprise. This wasn't what he was expecting, but he reminded himself that many high-end tasting menus started with an aperitif. Though usually not a shot of vodka.

The chef pushed two of the glasses toward them and raised the third. "Za zdorovie," he said, then knocked back the entire shot in one smooth motion.

Gregory picked up his glass hesitantly. He glanced at Jessica, who looked equally confused. But she gamely picked up her glass too.

"Za zdorovie," Gregory repeated awkwardly, and they both drank.

The vodka burned going down, making Gregory cough a little. It wasn't the smooth, expensive vodka he was expecting. It tasted harsh, like something you'd buy at a liquor store in a plastic bottle.

The chef was already refilling his own glass. "Good, yes? From my homeland. They say it cleans the palate." He drank the second shot as quickly as the first, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Gregory wasn't sure what to say. Was this really how the meal started? Maybe it was some kind of traditional ceremony before the actual cooking began.

"So, what will you be preparing for us tonight?" he asked, trying to guide things in the direction of food.

The chef ignored the question completely. Instead, he pulled out another bottle from under the counter. This one was amber-colored.

"Now we try whiskey," he announced. "American. Has caramel notes." He poured three more shots and downed his immediately.

Gregory took a small sip of his whiskey. It burned even more than the vodka. This definitely didn't taste like a premium brand. More like the kind college students would mix with cola.

Jessica leaned toward him and whispered, "Is this normal?"

Gregory shook his head slightly. "Maybe it's like a tasting menu for alcohol before the meal?"

The chef was watching them with narrowed eyes. "You don't like whiskey? Is too strong for American tastes?" There was a challenge in his voice.

"No, no, it's great," Gregory lied, then forced himself to drink the rest. Jessica followed his lead, grimacing as she swallowed.

The chef nodded approvingly. "Good. Now we move to tequila."

Gregory's stomach sank as the chef produced yet another bottle. This was definitely not what he had expected when he made the reservation. But he had paid a lot of money for this experience, and he didn't want to look like he couldn't handle it. Plus, Jessica was watching. He needed to impress her.

The tequila came and went, followed by something the chef called "special drink from my village." It smelled like gasoline and tasted worse. Gregory was starting to feel the alcohol now, and his confusion was turning into annoyance. When was the food coming?

"Excuse me," he said finally, after their fifth or sixth drink. "I thought this was a restaurant. Will there be any food?"

The chef looked at him like he had asked if the earth was round. "Of course this is restaurant. Best restaurant. Most exclusive." He gestured around the empty space. "You see anyone else here? Just you. Special treatment."

"Yes, but—" Gregory began.

"I understand," the chef interrupted. "You hungry." He reached under the counter again, and Gregory felt relief. Finally, some food.

But the chef only pulled out a small bowl of pretzels, which he set between them. "Snack," he explained. "To absorb alcohol. Now we try rum."

Gregory stared at the pretzels in disbelief. This had to be some kind of joke or misunderstanding. Maybe they had the wrong reservation? Or maybe this was some avant-garde concept restaurant where alcohol was the main course?

He glanced at Jessica, expecting to see his own confusion and annoyance reflected in her face. But to his surprise, she was smiling, looking completely entranced by the chef.

"This rum is amazing," she said after taking a sip. "I've never tasted anything like it."

The chef beamed at her. "Yes, very special rum. Aged in special barrels."

Gregory tasted his own rum. It tasted like... well, like normal rum. Maybe a little worse than normal, actually.

"Do you taste the oak?" Jessica asked him, her eyes wide with enthusiasm.

"Uh, yeah," Gregory said, not wanting to contradict her. "Definitely oaky."

The chef was now pouring something green into the shot glasses. "Absinthe," he announced. "Very strong. Very expensive."

By this point, Gregory was beyond confused. He was starting to wonder if he was being pranked. Was this place even a real restaurant? Had he been scammed? The reservation had cost a fortune already, and he hadn't seen a single piece of food except those stale pretzels.

But Jessica seemed to be having the time of her life. She was asking the chef questions about each drink, nodding seriously at his responses, which were getting more slurred as the evening progressed.

"The anise flavor is so complex," she said, sipping the absinthe. "And I love how it changes on the palate."

The chef nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes! You have very sophisticated taste. Not like most Americans." He shot a look at Gregory that seemed almost accusatory.

Gregory felt himself getting defensive. "I appreciate good drinks too," he said, though right now all he was appreciating was how much his head was starting to spin. "But usually at a restaurant, there's, you know... food."

The chef waved his hand dismissively. "Food is secondary. Drink is primary." He was definitely slurring now, his accent getting thicker. "In my country, we know this. We drink first, then maybe eat if still awake."

Gregory looked at his watch. They had been here for almost two hours, and all they'd done was drink increasingly terrible alcohol. The chef was now swaying slightly as he stood behind the counter, his eyes getting unfocused.

"Maybe we should call it a night," Gregory suggested to Jessica. "I can take you somewhere else for actual dinner."

But Jessica looked horrified at the suggestion. "We can't leave now! This is the most amazing dining experience I've ever had. The chef is a genius!"

The chef, hearing this, raised his glass to her. "To the beautiful lady with the excellent taste!" He drank, then almost fell over. He had to grab the counter to steady himself.

Gregory couldn't believe what was happening. This was supposed to be the most exclusive, high-end culinary experience in the city. Instead, he was watching a drunk man pour bottom-shelf liquor while his date inexplicably acted like they were at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

"Now," the chef announced, his voice louder than necessary, "we try special blend. My own creation." He pulled out a bottle with no label and poured three more shots. The liquid inside was an unnaturally bright blue.

"What's in it?" Gregory asked cautiously.

The chef tapped the side of his nose. "Secret recipe. Very exclusive. Very expensive." He drank his shot, then immediately poured himself another.

Gregory looked at the blue liquid dubiously. It smelled like it could strip paint. Jessica had already drunk hers and was nodding enthusiastically.

"It's like nothing I've ever tasted before," she said. "So many layers of flavor!"

Gregory reluctantly took a small sip. It tasted like blue raspberry candy mixed with pure ethanol. He put the glass down, feeling slightly nauseous.

The chef was now talking rapidly in what Gregory assumed was his native language, gesturing wildly with the bottle. Some of the blue liquid sloshed onto the counter.

"He's saying this drink is only made once a year, during a special moon phase," Jessica whispered to Gregory. "It's considered sacred in his culture."

"How do you know that?" Gregory asked, bewildered. "Do you speak his language?"

Jessica looked at him like he was being deliberately obtuse. "He just told us that."

Gregory was about to argue that the chef had definitely not said anything in English, when the chef suddenly slammed the bottle down on the counter.

"Now!" he announced. "Final drink of the evening." He reached under the counter and brought out a dusty bottle filled with a dark brown liquid. "This," he said with reverence that was somewhat undermined by his swaying, "is special reserve. One hundred years old. Very, very expensive."

He poured three shots with shaking hands, spilling some on the counter. Then he raised his glass. "To health, wealth, and beautiful women!" He drank, then collapsed backward, falling against the shelves behind him. Several bottles crashed to the floor.

Gregory jumped up, alarmed. "Are you okay?"

The chef waved from his position on the floor. "Is normal! Part of experience!" He tried to stand up, failed, then tried again more slowly. Eventually, he managed to get back on his feet, though he was leaning heavily on the counter.

"Now," he said, his words almost unintelligible, "we come to the end of our journey." He pulled out a small machine from under the counter. For a moment, Gregory thought it might be some cooking equipment. Finally, some food!

But it was just a credit card terminal. The chef punched in some numbers, squinting at the keypad like he was having trouble seeing it.

"Thirty thousand dollars," he announced proudly.

Gregory almost fell off his stool. "Thirty thousand? For what?"

"For the experience!" the chef said, as if it was obvious. "Very exclusive. Very special."

"But we didn't get any food!" Gregory protested. "You just got drunk in front of us!"

The chef looked deeply offended. "This is the experience! Best restaurant in city. You lucky to get reservation." He pushed the credit card terminal toward Gregory insistently.

Gregory turned to Jessica, expecting her to back him up. But she was looking at the chef with admiration.

"It was absolutely worth every penny," she said. "The way you paired each spirit with your commentary... I've never experienced anything like it."

The chef beamed at her, then nearly fell over again. "Beautiful lady understands. She has culture."

Gregory felt like he was losing his mind. Had he somehow missed something? Was this actually a normal high-end restaurant experience that he just didn't understand? Or was everyone else insane?

"I'm not paying thirty thousand dollars for shots of cheap liquor," he said firmly.

The chef's face darkened. "You insult my establishment? My heritage? These are premium spirits passed down through generations!"

"That blue stuff literally tasted like a melted Slurpee with vodka in it," Gregory pointed out.

"Gregory!" Jessica looked mortified. "Don't be rude!"

The chef crossed his arms. "No pay, no leave. Is simple."

Gregory looked from the drunk chef to his inexplicably impressed date, then back to the credit card terminal displaying the outrageous sum. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. But what option did he have? Make a scene? Call the police? They'd probably side with the restaurant.

With a heavy sigh, Gregory pulled out his credit card. The thirty thousand would put a serious dent in his crypto profits. He'd have to launch another token soon, maybe hype up some fake partnerships or announce a non-existent development roadmap to bring in fresh investors. It was getting harder to find suckers these days, but there were always new people entering crypto who didn't know better. But maybe this overpriced disaster was worth it just to end this bizarre evening.

As he inserted his card, the chef grinned triumphantly. "Excellent choice, sir. You won't regret it."

Gregory was pretty sure he already did.

The machine beeped as it processed the payment. The chef handed Gregory a receipt with a flourish that was somewhat undermined by the fact that he almost fell over again in the process.

"Come back soon!" the chef said, though he pronounced it more like "cub bag zoon."

Jessica was positively glowing as they got up to leave. "That was incredible," she said, taking Gregory's arm. "The way he explained the cultural significance of each spirit... I feel like I learned so much."

Gregory stared at her. The chef hadn't explained anything. He'd just gotten progressively drunker while serving them increasingly terrible alcohol.

But Jessica was looking up at him with such admiration, clearly impressed by his choice of restaurant, that Gregory didn't have the heart to contradict her. Maybe this was some kind of shared hallucination. Or maybe he just didn't get high culture.

As they stepped outside, Jessica squeezed his arm. "Thank you for such an amazing experience. I've never been anywhere so exclusive."

Gregory looked back at the plain door closing behind them, still trying to process what had just happened.

"Yeah," he said finally. "It was definitely... one of a kind."

[THE END]