Abby

My heart pounds as the room goes quiet. What on earth is happening right now?

We’re all looking at each other—me, Karl, John, and the homeless man. His eyes meet mine, full of a sort

of knowing energy that leaves me speechless. Is this a joke? He really has experience cooking with black

truffles, some of the rarest and most expensive in the world?

“You look confused, so I’ll explain,” he says, smiling through his beard. “I was once a chef in France and

Italy. Emphasis on was. But I’ve still got my skills.”

Karl scoffs, breaking the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me. A chef? You expect us to believe that?”

The man just shrugs, a tiny smile on his lips. “Believe what you want. I know how to cook with black

truffles, and you, my friends, are missing a crucial ingredient. That’s all I’m saying.”

Enter title…

right. What’s next? Are you a

skepticism is understandable, but

eyes, or maybe it’s the unexpected way that

that he knows something,

on. What’s the harm in hearing him out?” I say, finally

how genuinely curious

the idea, but

on this dish

finally speaks. “I

have to lose?”

in the air. “My last shred of sanity, probably. But go

should we call you?”

call me Anton,” the man replies,

“So, Anton, you were a

with black truffles often?”

a moment as if he’s back in a

a few Michelin-starred restaurants in France and Italy. I

than I can

changes. My eyes meet Karl’s for a moment;

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