An Exclusive Dining Experience

Part 2: East of the Sun, West of the Moon

"You'll have to forgive me for last time. I wasn't informed that you had no idea what was going on."

I sit blindfolded in the chair, perhaps the same one I'd been in last time, arms free of rope. Much more relaxed now that I know I'm not about to be sold or tortured, I dangle one knee over the clawed arm and sit at a comfortable angle with one elbow propped up on the other side. A small smile plays on my lips. "That's alright. By the end I was perfectly at ease. You make an amazing birthday dinner and have a wonderful chair-side manner."

"I'm glad I could put you at ease with my cooking and that you enjoy my food so much." His voice, as always, brightens significantly at the slightest appreciation of his cooking.

"You're new here, right?" I ask. "I get the occasional unserved meal slipped my way and I don't remember anything tasting like that before last week."

"Yes," he says. "Believe it or not, this is actually my way of getting out of a low point. Sidhe and I have been friends for a long time and said that one of Illiana was hurting for a chef, so I stepped in for a night. As you can see- well, hear, I stuck around. I like it here and this new idea of Illiana's suits me."

I remember Mom ranting about what must have been this man's first night. Rocco, a hotheaded chef with anger issues had stormed out in the middle of rush hour. Sidhe had called in a Hail Mary, a chef mom had described as "The God of Micro-Food Magic."

I hadn't known what she'd meant before, but now I do. Now I wonder if he himself had sparked this sensory deprivation idea. From what I've heard, it's becoming very popular. Now that it had gone public, people had the choice of being fed or eating the bite-sized morsels themselves. "The new guy" isn't the only chef involved, but he'd quickly become the most popular. Illiana said she'd give me the employee's half-price discount on meals if I filled out a survey or two afterward.

"So how about a name," I say. "It's not really fair that you already know mine."

"Antonio," he announces with an audible flourish.

"Antonio," I repeat, testing it on my tongue. "It suits you."

"Thanks." His voice sounds like he turned away slightly, towards a bubbling. There's the scent of cooking vegetables and Italian sauces that overpower some of the other things he may be cooking. I can't wait to taste it all.

"Why does Illiana want you to feed patrons?"

"Illiana's pitch is that it adds to the sensuality of the experience," he drawls, making a pretty good impersonation of her exuberance. "The truth? It's cleaner. You wouldn't believe how many people I've seen miss their own mouths." 

He gives a soft hum and I imagine him shrugging. 

"We wash our hands, we wear gloves, and only touch the serving utensil or dish. Everything's monitored on cameras and people can request a server to watch the proceedings if they are uncomfortable," he continues. "It's really just what the customer prefers. What's your preference? Is it weird being fed?"

"It was weird the first time," I admit. "But now that I know what's actually happening, I don't mind saving you all some clean-up." I trace my fingers down the tail end of the blindfold where it's tied behind my head and drapes down past my shoulder. "So when can I have a meal without this thing on?" Illiana had insisted I still wore the scarf before he'd entered the room.

He gives a tight chuckle. "It's not much of a sensory deprivation dinner if you can see. I mean, I could put sound-canceling headphones over your ears, but I rather enjoy our conversations."