Sampling The Local Cuisine [Candice, Dorian]

Candice was becoming quite well acquainted with the City of Lights, it was her home away from home as she was want to say when wrapped up in Giselle's sheets. That was a matter that she was still yet to unpack, but the damnable woman was busy with work. The audacity. And so, Candice found herself roaming the vast city looking for something or someone interesting.

People came and went, but they were boring people and she was happy to see them gone. Maybe she could have called Vee, but she didn't want to put the poor girl out after all that she'd suffered the last time they had met. She was callous, but not needlessly so.

It was by these twisting strands of fate that Candice found her way to L’Arc Qui ne Faut, a small restaurant tucked away on a street that she had never been down before, and the need for sustenance overtook the Heiress' base urges to find a place with a little more class. After all, there would probably be a time when one of her girlfriends would want to take her out to a nice establishment and they ended up at a place like this. So she'd be best served getting in the practice early for those feigned smiles and quiet notes of enjoyment towards a no doubt utterly bland and tasteless dish.

To her credit, she owned the solo-dining experience without even a pause for doubt upon her features. She asked for a table for one, pointed out one of the nicer booths as to where she would be seated, and ordered a single glass of the most expensive red that they had on the menu. It was still rather average in both price and taste, but that was also to be expected. Faux-smiling at the waiting staff, she awaited her first course with only the bare minimum level of hope that this dish would not cause her to violently wretch.

It wasn't especially uncommon for Dorian to note a new guest in the restaurant, but it was quite easy for him to spot the sort of clientele that he had, at one time, served exclusively. There was an almost instinctive response as he worked, noting that everything was done just a bit more carefully than normal, a more perfectionist slant to his every action that needed to be reined back in.

Lunch service was at least easy enough, and despite his reservations about the woman's demeanor, he still aimed to prepare only the best. The first course was an artichoke heart carpaccio, with poached eggs and a drizzle of truffle oil over the top. Not especially experimental, or even particularly exciting, for that matter, but it was a solid dish with a good foundation, something Dorian was perfectly pleased to include on any menu.

And so out it went, while he got to work on the second course.

Eggs and avocado, huh? Hardly the most 'out there' dish that she could have imagined but what else was she to expect from a third rate chef with a fourth rate kitchen? Still, at least it appeared to have been dressed up properly and presented with some degree of genuine care.

Candice paused for a moment before she began, taking in the aromas of the dish, and was almost frustrated with how satisfactory she found the smell alone. Taking her first bite, it was like an explosion of flavours in her mouth. She wanted to hate it, to pick faults at it purely out of entitlement and spite, but there was nothing ill to be said. The balance was so perfect, each component offsetting its counterparts in such a manner that every bite was both unique and delightful in equal measure.

It did not take her long to clean the entire plate, leaving only a customarily small amount of crumbs and the like to suggest that she was not as greedy as her ravenous hunger wished to display. Whoever this chef was, she wanted to fill him with volts for daring to serve her a dish so good without having the audacity to even introduce himself personally. Clearly, he had heard that she was here - THE Candice Catnipp - and was putting on some extra effort to impress her at the expense of the other guests. And yet, for all her vitriol, there was no denying that she wanted to see what came out next.

It seemed she'd enjoyed the dish, which provided Dorian with something of a mixed reaction, admittedly. It told him that his skills hadn't diminished in any capacity, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't developed a certain degree of earnest distaste for the wealthy after being in their presence for such an extended period of time.

Out the next dish went to his latest guest, with the same care that all others. A coq au vin braised in deep red wine, the pancetta cooked crisp and the mushrooms cut so as to maintain all of their proper texture. A simple, almost rustic dish despite its haute cuisine origins, but that was the beauty of it, in Dorian's eyes.

He liked to think it said something about him, but then again, he was expecting too much out of anyone to extrapolate all that just from a single plate.

The second dish came out eventually, and with the waiting, the expectations of Candice had only climbed higher and higher. That there was any delay at all had certainly dampened her mood just a little, though she had certainly made such hasty work of the first course that it was certainly a reasonable thing. Candice was far from reasonable though, and so it came down to the food itself to salvage this developing situation.

The simplicity of the dish was not lost on her, but it was certainly wasted. She had no interest in simple things, they were so mundane and boring, and if this was a little insight into the soul of the chef then what was she but disappointed. Sure the chicken was cooked to perfection, but that was the baseline. The seasoning was pleasant, but not enough to elevate the dish to the standards that the first course has alluded to. It was the dish of a poor man, dressed up in some roughspun finery, and presented as such.

That near half the dish was left picked at but uneaten perhaps spoke enough about her enjoyment of the matter, but she had watched the waiting staff circling like vultures and had loudly bid them take it away for she could not so much as stomach another bite after all. It was all a ruse though, and hardly a cunning one. The chef would no doubt see the truth of it, her message was clear - do better.

It, frankly, did not surprise Dorian to see a dish brought back in such a state, and he certainly did not take it much to heart. After all, he had dealt with people far worse than even this in his time in Paris, without so much as a care in the world for her opinion on the matter. He was not here to create flawless creations, after all. That was a life now long past him.

Lunch service was far shorter than dinner, and the only course left was the dessert. A hot chocolate tart, with coffee ice cream and an espresso syrup over the top. It was refreshing at this time of year, when the weather was so volatile. Simultaneously warm for cold days, and chilled for hot ones.

Well, he knew this woman wouldn't so much as consider that aspect of things. It didn't bother him much either way, really.

And as the dessert arrived, Candice's heart sunk. She had been able to call the main course functional, perhaps still riding high upon the laurels of that excellent entree, but this was so utterly bland and uninspired that she did not even want to eat even a single bite. Still, despite herself, she convinced herself that it was worthy of at least a taste. But that was all it would get, a single spoonful gracing her lips and that alone was far more than the dish deserved.

That the dish was served hot was only one of its many failings, and this time there were many, so Candice did take the time to cut a little frowning face into the surface of the tart itself whilst leaving the unremarkable ice cream accompaniment to melt of its own volition.

She shouldn't have expected any better really, it was only natural that a low-brow establishment like this would perform in such a manner. At this point should she even bother being offended? It felt like a waste of effort, for the talentless could not be saved from their misdeeds and she was far from hopeful that this was anything of even that calibre.

As the dish returned to the kitchen, Dorian rolled his eyes at it having gone almost entirely untouched. However, as he noted the small face cut into its surface, he could not help but begin to laugh, a loud and earnest laugh at such a petty gesture, easily heard in the dining room. He was used to feeding children, but this was on an entirely different level.

"Miles, cover my station for a bit, would you? It would be remiss of me not to speak with our unhappy guest, don't you think?"

Of course, had it simply been a matter of the meal being unpleasant, that would be one thing. But Dorian was still a man proud of himself, of what he did, and perhaps more importantly, he was a man who had long since abandoned any pretense that he was concerned about the overblown self-worth of others. Stepping out from the kitchen, letting his hair down as he did so, he approached her table with a smile, his voice clear and polite as he spoke with her.

"I suppose you didn't enjoy lunch?"

Candice was tapping away on her phone as Dorian approached, so uncaring was she for such a gesture that it was only as he addressed her that she deigned to look in his direction. Gleaming emerald eyes poured over the surprisingly handsome chef as he appraised her opinion of the meal, slowly placing her phone down on the table. She turned to face him a little more directly, not exactly head-on but rather than straining herself looking over one shoulder at him.

"Oh, I suppose not. I have such a delicate palette you see and, well, your food just didn't resonate with my energy. You know?"

Her tone was overly nice, warm and cheerful even as she was putting him down. He had come out to the front of the house, so clearly he was looking to spar and she would not refuse him but nor would she throw the first uncushioned blow. Besides, if nothing else at least he took care of his own appearance. That alone was admirable about him, for his cooking certainly was not.

"Ah, a delicate palate, hm? You will have to forgive me for not matching it. My time in Paris has worn off after a few years away. I needed to enjoy a bit clearer air than haute cuisine, you understand."

Dorian made it a point not to actually apologize, of course. He had not asked her forgiveness, merely brought it into the conversation and them promptly moved past it. His mention of prior work was hardly much of a boast, merely a statement that he was not here to appeal to the palates of those who sought unnecessary perfection.

"Given your delicate palate, might I ask what you think would require improving? I would hate to leave you with an unsatisfying meal and not know what you think would merit improvement."

But that question didn't matter. Dorian already knew abundantly well that she had no answers for him.