Chewing on chalk. The sensation and the taste were the same. It was like chewing on fine powder. Bland and unappealing. Disgusting in its lack of any discernable taste. However, it was a fine filet mignon. It just wasn't right.
The fine pinkness of the meat and brilliant presentation hinted at craftsmanship to be lauded. He could feel the juices flowing within his gullet. As the succulent flow of umami dared enter his mouth, the instant the juice touched his tounge a shockwave splashed against his mind.
It was bland. Beyond bland. There was nothing.
Grasping for the water, he touched the glass to his lips. As the water escaped the container and passed his lips, he swished and spat the mix back onto the plate.
The waiter stood at attention. In his years of serving at such a fine establishment, he had never seen such rudeness on display. "I'm sorry sir. I'll get you another." The waiter quickly shifted his face back to its blank state. There was no need to further infuriate such a terrible customer. Even if it was the Golden Tongue.
"No. Get me the caviar. I need some salt to get some flavor back into my mouth." Scoffing at the dish in front of him, he pulled the napkin up to his mouth. Dabbing it, he cleaned the filth from his lips.
It only reminded him of that hole-in-the-wall in Louisiana he visted last. Such high expectations. And such an absolute disappointment.
He could hear her now. "I curse you Golden Tongue! May you never find joy for the rest of your days!"
Her dish truly deserved that one star.
The waiter came along with the small dish of caviar. As he sat the dish down, the fine dinnerware made its presentation.
Top notch! A Mother of pearl caviar spoon! They were truly pulling out all of the stops.
They needed to eitherway with how poor that first dish was.
Gripping the spoon, it ducked beneath the awaiting pile. Coming up for air, the spoon pulled with it a fine helping of caviar.
Inspecting the utensil for any abnormalities, he pulled it into his waiting maw. Clasping his mouth around the fish eggs, he awaited the splash of salty goodness to sweep along his palate. Yet, nothing came.
Spitting out his second batch of food, he raised his voice.
"What the hell are you serving me?"
"Caviar sir." The calm reply sobered the awestruck room.
"Taste that rubbish. Nothing comes from it."
The waiter grasped for the spoon. Digging into the dish, he tasted.
"There is nothing wrong with the caviar sir."
"You have to be shitting me. Nothing comes from that pile of filth."
"Are you intentionally trying to ruin my restaurant?" A voice bellowed from across the room. Obviously it was some bigwig. He had always hated when they complained. He was the critic here.
"The food tastes as bland as a sheet of paper. So, I'd say it is you intentionally sabotaging my fine taste."
"Yeah rubbish. Exactly how I would describe your food." He took a breath. "Now, get me a fine bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon!" He had to wash it down with something.
The waiter did not even hide his contempt. "Right away sir."
A minute passed. "Here you are... sir." That title came rather late.
Wafting the fine drink, he could smell the richness. This would be good. And he drank.
Only now did he realize.
He didn't have anything.
It was all gone. Like chewing and drinking chalk.
That Louisianian woman did something to him.
He couldn't taste anything.
He was the Golden Tongue.