Forty Five

Forty Five


Marinette's point of view

As they were leaving, I heard the waitress telling him. "The customer is stating that a dead cockroach is in his food."

The words hit me like a kick to the stomach, and I could see the other kitchen employees' faces light up with the same surprise. "Dead Cockroach? In this eatery? It sounded ridiculous."

As soon as I heard that, I felt I needed to follow him because it feels like it has something to do with me.

Terry stood up straight, his expression composed in spite of the commotion outside. He came back and said, "Marinette, you know what on a second thought, let's go take care of this together."

I was taken by surprise and froze for a moment. "Want me to accompany you?"

"Yes," he answered emphatically. "Your kitchen is just as much yours as mine is. Let's go sort it out."

I followed him to the dining area after nodding and untying my apron. As we entered the busy area through the swinging doors, my heart was pounding.

There was tension in the dining room. A middle-aged man sat at a table close to the center, his voice loud enough to attract the attention of every other customer and his face flushed with rage.

Leaning over his table, he said, "This is completely unacceptable!" and made dramatic hand gestures. For someone to find a cockroach in his meal? What a disgrace this place is!"

Every eye in the room turned to him as his words reverberated. The diners who were busy with their food had slowed to whispers and anxious looks. I noticed a few patrons setting down their cutlery, their faces changing from inquisitive to repulse.

The man went on, raising his voice with each sentence, "What kind of establishment is this?" "This is worse than a street seller, but you advertise yourself as a fine dining establishment! At least they know how to maintain the cleanliness of their cuisine!"

A family of four gathered their belongings in silence after exchanging uncomfortable glances toward the far end of the room. Two friends at a different table started gathering up their things as well as they drop their cutleries.

Terry took a step forward, his face composed yet commanding. "I'm Chef Terry, and I am the owner of this place" he said in a steady, businesslike voice. "I am aware that your lunch has been problematic. Could you describe what has happened?"

The man's eyes narrowed as he spun around to confront him. In a sarcastic tone, he repeated, "What happened?" What happened is that I arrived here anticipating a good supper, but what I got was a cockroach! Take a look at this!"

The cockroach wobbled a little on top of the meal as he poked a finger at his plate. "You consider this to be fine dining? What did I pay for, this?"

Customers in the vicinity leaned closer, their expressions displaying a mixture of disdain and interest. As the anxiety in the air increased by the moment, some murmured to each other.

Terry's tone remained constant as he responded, "Sir, I understand your frustration." However, I want to find out the truth about this. Could I look at the plate more closely?

Despite his flaring nostrils, the man shoved the plate in Terry's direction. "Please do not patronize me. You could suddenly understand how unkept your kitchen is only after viewing it up close!"

The room was filled with murmuring as a result of the words. At the next table, a woman set down her fork and looked suspiciously at her own plate.

"This is unacceptable," she muttered to her friend. "We need to go."

Terry focused solely on the man and the plate in front of him, ignoring the increasing agitation. In sharp contrast to the customer's antics, he maintained his composure.

I saw Terry lean a little closer and carefully examine the insect. Although his face remained unchanged, I could tell that his thoughts were racing.

With his arms crossed, the man said, "Do you have anything to say for yourself? or will you just stand there and act like this isn't the city's worst restaurant?"
Terry stood erect, his demeanor composed yet powerful. As steady as ever, his voice sliced like a dagger through the chaos.

It was the strangeness of it all, not the sight of the cockroach, that made my stomach turn. The entire situation seemed, for some reason, manufactured.

Customers looked at their own food with uneasiness as they whispered among themselves around us. A few diners, their faces displaying a mixture of disbelief and disgust, pushed their dishes aside. At a nearby table, I saw a couple silently putting on their coats in preparation to depart.

Terry looked around the room for a moment, then back at the man. He appeared attentive rather than irritated or agitated. I was completely taken aback when he turned to face me.

“Marinette, how do you think we should handle this?” he asked in a steady, even voice.

My eyes got big, as I was surprise by the words I just heard. "Me?"

"Yes," he said, glaring at me sharply. "You have witnessed the circumstance. What is your call on this?"

Now that the customers were watching me and waited for my reaction, the whispers around us subsided. I looked at the plate once again while my heart raced. Something about the cockroach stood out, even though it sat there like an unwanted guest.

I inhaled deeply before moving forward. "Could I check the plate?" I asked, maintaining a steady tone.

The man's eyes narrowed, but he made a dramatic flourishing gesture toward the plate. "Please be my guest."

Leaning closer, I examined the cockroach and the surrounding dish. A combination of strong flavors and vivid hues that covered every component on the plate, the signature meal in question was a fiery, saucy masterpiece. The insect, however, was immaculate.

It was completely devoid of any sauce. There were no indications of heat exposure or contact with the dish on its clean, brown body.

I straightened up and turned to him, saying, "Sir. I apologize for the inconvenience, but when your food was served, are you positive this was in it?"

He frowned as his face flushed. "What are you trying to tell me? That I am telling lies? This is just so ridiculous."

I said calmly, "I am just trying to understand. Because this cockroach appears too fresh to have been cooked with the meal and has no sauce on it."

The man spluttered, his outrage wavering briefly. "Well, it might have entered after it was cooked! It is clear that your kitchen is dirty."

Terry's quiet but forceful voice interrupted. "Sir, we hold our kitchen to the greatest standards of cleanliness. Furthermore, this is inconsistent with the way our food is cooked and served, as Marinette said."

The guests' whispers changed, doubt beginning to seep into their tones.

Someone remarked, "Yeah, it does not look like it came from the dish."

Another diner added, "Exactly. It is too clean for it to have been served with the food. That's strange."

I paused, taking another look at the platter. It didn't appear that the cockroach had been cooked with the dish. It actually appeared too new, as if it had just been put there. Additionally, despite the meal being covered in a thick, spicy glaze, there was no sauce on it.

I noticed a glimmer of uneasiness in the man's eyes as his face grew darker. What are you trying to say?

With a firm tone, I stated, "I'm just stating the facts." This cockroach would have had sauce on it or at least some indications of heat exposure if it had been cooked with the food. However, it doesn't.

As the other patrons' whispers became more audible, I saw some nodding in agreement.

Terry took a step forward, his coolness unflinching. "Sir," he said firmly, "I take this restaurant's reputation very seriously." We will take care of any problems that may have arisen. However, I agree with Marinette that it does not appear to have come from our kitchen or even from this restaurant."

The man, still mid-rant, froze, his cheeks beet-red. In a voice riddled with anger and a little discomfort, he shouted, "What are you saying?"

Forcing my tone firm but in a calm manner, I turned to him. "Sir, what I am saying is that it is strange. The evidence is insufficient to conclude that this is our fault."

The room fell silent, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. He was now the focus of attention, and I could feel his posture becoming more uneasy.

"You don't mean to suggest that I planted it?" He sputtered, his voice breaking slightly. "That is preposterous!"

"I didn't say that," I said calmly. "But I think we should consider every possibilities."

The man's face grew darker filled with rage as he is now the focus. "I can not take this, you need evidence to conclude to that, and I am not leaving until this is settled."