‘This tastes very rich.’
‘It’s how it’s meant to taste.’
‘Yeah, well I don’t like it.’
Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose. First the crème brûlée, then the lobster and truffle risotto, and now even the seasonal oyster garnished with caviar. Was there anything she would actually eat without complaint?
‘How about those things I first saw when I came in?’ She tossed down the half touched oyster with a shrivelled up nose, wiping the tips of her fingers.
‘You mean the banana peels? In the rubbish? Out back?’
‘Oh, now they looked like an utter delight! Golden, nutritious, I bet they have a sweet taste too to match that divine aroma.’
Gavin let out an agonised groan. Twenty-three years he had worked as an à la carte chef for a Michelin star restaurant, and was now being ripped apart by some intergalactic space traveller who had decided his parking lot was a good spot to touch down.
Tromping back to the kitchen, Gavin found himself wishing this alien had touched down in a McDonalds instead.