Something Satan may use to Gordon Ramsay

As I continued to hear increasingly concerning noises from the back room, I took some time to reflect on my life. In my first life, I had become a major crime lord, stomping out generation lasting mob families and toppling a few government organizations. I then died because someone killed a fucking dog. Now, in my second life, I was a fledgling god, born again with potentially infinite power. And perhaps I would die to someone's cooking.

There was a series of animal squeals from the back, causing more confusion in me than any other emotion. 'They just... have animals back there? Are they specifically there to slaughter when someone makes an order? How is that cost effective? It seems like no one orders.' I could not make sense of it no matter how hard I tried.

As smoke started to pool out of the top of the doorframe, I was distracted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the hall. Turning to look, I saw Grutrod walking into the room waving his hand in his face as he yawned.

He takes a quick look around the room, taking a moment at the crowd, me, the barkeep, and the smoke coming out of the backroom. "So, yeh made the mistake of orderen' somethin', didn't yeh?" I just sat for a moment before giving a shrug followed by a nod.

He had a slight chuckle to himself as he took a seat at his normal table, however one that put him as close to me as possible. As he sat, he called out, "I got 50 silver the lad downs the dish!" That carried out an uproar from all participants.

The barkeep shook his head, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." He gave a knowing look to Grutrod, which Grutrod waved off.

Grutrod responded with a confident demeanor and tone, "I've seen and heard this lad do many a thing impossible. Besides, I was able to down one or two in me heyday!" He did a prideful side-to-side head bob as he finished his second sentence.

The barkeep let out a few clicks of his tongue, "Not this one you didn't" He shook his head disapprovingly, still not looking up from the counter as he seemingly tried to scrub a particularly hard stain that I could not see.

Grutrod's face immediately fell, "Oh no. Yeh didn't get the chef's special, did yeh?" I gave a slow nod with a concerned expression on my face. Grutrod shook his head, "Looks like I'm down 50 silver, and whatever it costs to burry yeh."

As I was looking at him, baffled, a sudden bang echoed from the back room. This drew my attention just in time to see the chef kick the door wide open and walk out, carrying an oversized cloche with both arms.

They walk up to me triumphantly, almost slamming the serving dish down on the counter after the barkeep barely got out of the way in time. They almost seem out of breath, panting a few moments with their head down before regaining themselves and looking back to me, still clad in their mask.

They let out a somewhat evil cackle, "This, is a dish I learned only from the best of the best. A recipe I learned a lo~ng time ago, from a person claiming to have seen it in a vision." They paused for effect as they performed emphasizing hand gestures. "They, designed it as a desert, but I saw it had more potential, he he he." I could feel their eyes squint at me with sinister intent.

They stood up straight and elegantly grabbed the top handle of the cloche, beginning to lift it slightly before pausing. "With one final finishing touch, of course." They chuckle a moment before speaking something I could barely make out in a much rougher, throatier voice, "KAL!"

They raise the lid in a quick flourish as a fire seems to ignite itself on top of the bowl the food was served in. They let out a huge shout that must have been audible from outside or anywhere in the halls, "I present, THE CREME BRULEE CASSAROLE!"

I stared at the fires in front of me for a few moments in silence. After a while of awkward silence, I speak up somewhat timidly, "Do uh, do I put out the fire now or?" The chef angled their head to look down upon me, but followed that with a nod.

With slight nervousness, I used my enhanced lungs to simply try and blow out the flames like a candle. This worked for the most part, only slightly distorting the shape of the porridge-like substance underneath. I gagged, nearly adding my stomach acid to whatever horrific ingredients were used to make the chunky, creamy, and burnt substance in front of me.

The whole tavern watched in silence as I looked around for a moment. After not seeing anything around, I was **** to once again ask the chef for instructions, "Is there meant to be a spoon or fork I eat it with, or must I use my hands?" Their demeanor did not change as they tossed an awkwardly sized spoon forward, which landed partially in the meal itself.

I carefully picked it out and cleaned it slightly before taking a few deep breaths. It seemed I would be in for a major test of fortitude.