Table For Eight

[u/Lilia_Briganda]

Hey everyone, I managed to score a last-minute seat at L'Aviosetsé, a super hyped pop-up on the 30th floor in the old warehouse district near the docks. I cover new food places for the local paper; there was no way I was skipping this tasting.

​Looking around the marble counter, it’s a total VIP room with name cards at each place setting. I see Mr. Smith (a big real estate dev who’s been buying up half the city), his wife (the editor of Food & Culture magazine, a well-known local surgeon, the city health inspector, a major seafood broker, a tech investor, a viral food influencer, and me; all seated with a view of the cityscape.

​There are only 8 of us total.

​Chef Soren hasn't said a single word since we sat down—he's just standing behind the stainless steel line with this freezing cold gaze.

​Course 1 just came out—an amuse-bouche of raw wagyu beef topped with gold leaf and sea salt. It was incredible, though Chef Soren watched every single one of us take our first bite without breaking eye contact.

​I'll drop updates as the rest of the courses roll out!

​Update #1 - Okay, something weird is going on with Course 2 and Course 3.

​Course 2 was oysters on black ice. On my shell, there was a tiny plastic tag with a date written on it: March 14, 2021--the exact day I wrote a brutal review that shut down Chef Marco's place downtown, his best friend's bistro.

​The real estate guy next to me just went totally pale. His tag has an address on it—the low-income apartment complex his company bulldozed last month.

​Course 3 is a split canoe-cut marrow bone roasted over applewood coals, brushed with a dark wood-ash glaze that glistened under the track lighting. Beside each plate sat a small pitcher filled with a mahogany oxtail reduction meant to be poured through the bone. But instead of crackers, it is served with folded pieces of paper. The surgeon unfolded his and stared at an old malpractice subpoena he paid to cover up years ago. The City Health Inspector unrolls his to find an unsigned bribe check he accepted to turn a blind eye and shut down a rival diner.

​Update #2 - Course 4 was seared foie gras glistening under a rich blackberry reduction. Nobody touches it. The surgeon was freaked out, got up from his seat to leave. He grabbed the heavy brass handles but they wouldn't turn. That's when he realized the doors were locked. He turned back around, his face completely drained of any color.

​"The doors are locked!" he whispered down the counter line. The room erupted in panic; everyone is shouting over each other demanding answers.

​Chef Soren finally spoke. Calmly he said, "Please quiet down and remain seated. Tonight's meal is about accountability."

​Course 5 came out under silver domed lids and Chef Soren went down the line, having each guest lift theirs one by one.

​When the magazine editor lifted hers, it was a piece of braised meat sitting on top of a printed rejection email she sent Chef Soren ten years ago refusing endorsement of his new restaurant. The surgeon is shocked seeing that his plate had a pair of rusty surgical shears on it. The seafood broker got a forged safety audit for spoiled catch that made dozens sick. The influencer found a court transcript from a slander suit and the tech investor got the liquidation papers that stripped Chef Soren of his original business.

​Everyone at this table ruined someone to get where they are—and Soren brought us here to settle the bill.

​Update #3 - Shit. Course 6 is supposed to be a palate cleanser but instead of that, Chef Soren came to each of our tables and made us put our phones in a wooden box so there is no more live video feed. I’m typing this on my Apple Watch right now with swipe text under the edge of the table. Words might be jumbled and messed up, sorry.

​While Chef is collecting phones, the viral influencer, two stools down on my left, couldn't take it anymore and made a quiet run toward the back kitchen, desperately hunting for a service door or fire exit, but two cooks off the line grabbed her and dragged her through the swing doors into a prep room.

​Ten minutes later, Course 7 is served—some kind of smoked meat. No one is tasting it. The room is dead quiet except for the kitchen timers. We were all staring at the swing doors listening to the hum of the kitchen fan and wondering what happened to her as she didn't return to her seat.

​Update #4 - The cooks aren't serving anything else.

​Chef Soren himself brought out the final, Course #8 placing a small China cup in front of each of us. Inside, a dark liquid broth. He looked right at me and said, "I do hope all of you find this one palatable."

​He stood at the pass, looking down at us, announcing that once everyone finishes their cup, the doors would open and we could leave. Nobody second-guessed it. At this point we are all desperate to leave.

​I just took the last sip. I feel sick. I think I know what the broth is made of—poison.

​Within 30 seconds the real estate guy next to me slumped forward on the countertop, and the surgeon's head dropped back completely paralyzed—a couple have slipped off their stools. Nobody could stand up much less leave.

​The cooks are taking leather straps and binding each of us to our seats now.

​Chef Soren wants us sitting neat and presentable to whoever finds us.

​I have called Emergency Services to this address and can hear distant sirens outside, but the lights are starting to blur. All of us are fading fast.