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They don’t travel for places, they travel for food. They don’t need a map, their instinct leads them to the nearest ferment, street stall, or grumpy-chef trattoria with no website. They’ll happily spend 12 hours on a bus just to eat a pizza in Naples and head straight back. Crappy hotels and uncomfortable journeys? Always worth it, if there’s something unforgettable on the plate at the end.
They always order the spiciest dish on the menu, and everyone thinks their tongue must have lost all sense of taste by now. Their necklace is made of real habaneros, their lifeline in case the dish isn't spicy enough. All sweaty and red-faced with a fiery tongue, they declare: "It's not that spicy!"
Before eating out, they always call the restaurant, just to find out what kind of death awaits them. Traces of peanuts, cereals, crustaceans, or maybe just a pinch of lactose for a rough night. While everyone else gets a long list of delicious options, they’re left with two bland and tasteless choices. They watch their friends' plates with envy, wondering if maybe they should’ve just stayed home. “By the time you realize our suffering, it’ll be too late.”
Their goal isn’t to eat, but to review. They wear glasses to look the part, but their vision is perfect. If you don’t find their review under a restaurant, it’s probably just because they haven’t been there yet. "We thrive on negative reviews, they’re a blast to write and to read."
For them, veggies aren’t side dishes, they’re the main characters. They always go around with their tote bag, from which inevitably sticks out some rare veggie, the kind you didn’t even know existed, but they know better than their own name. They know their farmers by name and will travel miles just to get “the good kale.” Their gut microbiome probably sees them as a god.
Their latest creation? Chocolate and pickled shrimp cake. They love experimenting, and their house is full of jars and test tubes. More than once, they've come close to blowing everything up. Their favorite guinea pig? The fearless explorer. At home, they have a little shrine with a picture of David Zilber.
They don't function without the amount of coffee that a normal person drinks in an entire week. Their eyelids, every now and then, take on a life of their own and do a little dance. Coffee at the café is a sacred ritual, and any delay in the delivery of the drink is an unforgivable crime. They're constantly on edge, but no one dares to tell them. The last person who tried... well, they’re no longer with us to tell the tale.
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