The man had only killed his wife; nothing strange or pathological, just simple domestic abuse, and so he went to get fondue.
He always partook in such meals in times when relaxation and comfort were of the greatest necessity, be it because of some celebration or some form of impending anxiety. The ambiance was such that such a man as he could fancy himself sophisticated upon entering and eating at such an establishment but still maintain casual dress and manners, for the restaurant was but putting up a ruse: it primarily pandered to the less glorious among us.
Such a statement is certainly not made to discredit the eatery, however. In its time, it was a lovely and quality place to dine for any meal, and it had prices to match. The pricing on the menu actually did root out the poor and impoverished from the grounds of the building, but the man, that day, at least, did not suffer from that problem. Besides the pricing, though, everything was exquisitely common, tailored perfectly for the falsely discerning eye of the average citizen but still marvelous in its own right. The meal itself consisted of four courses (and yes, it was described as courses in the menu so as to exalt the customer): cheese, salad, broth, and lastly chocolate for dessert.
The cheese served to warm the gullet of the man, so even if he had not come to the restaurant hungry (as was often the case and was, due to a vague anxiety, the case that day), he could prepare for heavier courses with pieces of airy bread smothered in melted cheddar or brie alongside the occasional green. Following the cheese was the salad, of course, a course that, while never, until that day, neglected, was always by leaps and bounds the least favorite of the man. Salad, he had said before, along with all other vegetables, served only to prolong with suffering of life. That salads, unlike the raw carrots and broccoli provided with the cheese course, were dressed up and ornamented like a commoner in a king's court served only to offend the man more; however, with all that said, before today he always partook, because the suffering of life, it seemed to him, might have been leading to something better, like the sting of a needle full of anesthesia. That day, though, he had been proven wrong, and he saw no reason in partaking in the second course.
But the third course! Oh how did it fill the man with warmth! Cheese was simply a beginning. He enjoyed it, but he could not live off of it. Survive, yes; live, no. Salads were a ruse, yes, but the broth, and the meats that accompany it, oh joy, was to him food on which one could truly live. Meat had more substance, it is true. It was not pockmarked by air bubbles or hidden in dressings and croutons but simmering proudly in the man's chosen broth. On the topics of broths, the man had tried a countless number, but the restaurant always came up with the recipes. He loved nothing more during his dining experience than to experiment with and test new flavors and combinations of meats and broths, but these required follow-up visits to confirm opinions and downtime with which to form them, and these were no longer luxuries afforded to the man. He chose, that day, the simplest, most basic broth because he could not afford to be disappointed. How foolish would he have looked to not enjoy the meal after choosing to have it!
This brings us, of course, to the fourth course: the melted chocolate for which the establishment was so widely acclaimed. If the meats and broths were Heaven on Earth to the man, then the chocolate was simply Heaven, and at the time, that was exactly what the man needed. Heaven comes in sparse amounts to such men. The cheese course was like the bejeweling of a sword: the food was already functional, but covering it in something more served to increase enjoyment. The salad was, as has already been discussed, the dressing up of a peasant for a royal ball: such a pathetic thing cannot be changed by bettering its beauty, and nor can it be hidden by such means. On the other hand, the broth was like the perfection of an art: the meat was already so gorgeous, prepared and arranged with such divine culinary skill, and then cooking it in such fine broth served only to refine such treasures to near-legendary levels. The chocolate, though, was comparable to nothing on Earth. If the fruit and desserts were polished pearls before being submerged in a heated pool of delicacy, then they were the Pearly Gates afterwards, and, as mentioned before, were therefore a rare treat afforded to the man only in times such as these.
Enough of these descriptions, though. We should not worry ourselves with the tastes of one man when there is a story to be told. Before recently, the man would have come to the restaurant with his wife and children, but in case the reader has forgotten after listening to the attractive courses of the restaurant, the family was gone, the wife being dead and the kids, of course, having been rescued from the man shortly after, though he intended them no harm. That day, he dined alone. In fact, it had been arranged by the man to have the restaurant largely vacant, excepting, of course, the best chef of the restaurant and his favorite waitress, a perky blonde with whom he had forged a bond of friendship over the years that he became of regular customer.
The man that day, in stark contrast not only to his usual attire but to the general wardrobe of the average customer, was dressed in a suit and tie, all black, with his normally unruly hair slicked back just as respectfully as his hands, which were curled up in prayer on the tabletop, between his body and the stove burner in the table's center, just moments before the waitress arrived.
She skipped up to the table, the waitress, such a young and innocent girl. By what right was she serving such a man? Such a pretty face surely must have hidden a secret contempt for the man, but no. Perhaps not. She had no way of knowing, at the time, what had been done. 414Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFPMcRC24mn
"Sir," she said. "You're alone. Where are your wife and kids? I always enjoy speaking with the Mrs, and your children are adorable."
"The children are with some new friends they made, and my wife was, unfortunately, called to embark on a sudden business trip by the big man himself. Well, I think he's near the top, maybe even at the very top. Either way, I suppose it was time for her to go on such a trip. The boss knew, and I felt it too, I think."
"She's that good at what she does?" asked the waitress.
"The best. She deserves better than what she has, so I'm glad she went on her trip," replied the murderer.
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