Klein Moretti was not a detective. He was not an adventurer. He was not a Beyonder walking the perilous path of godhood.
No, Klein Moretti was a food journalist—and a damn good one at that.
Armed with a notebook, a well-trained palate, and an insatiable hunger, he traveled across the bustling streets of Backlund, braving both the finest dining establishments and the most dubious street stalls. His mission? To taste, judge, and document every dish that passed his lips.
His latest assignment for the Backlund Times Gourmet Column had brought him to "Le Petale Noire", an upscale restaurant known for its ethereal Evernight-style cuisine. It was said that their signature dish, Moonlit Truffle Soup, was so divine that diners often left the establishment in tears, having glimpsed the very essence of the Evernight Goddess herself.
Klein adjusted his tie, straightened his jacket, and stepped through the grand mahogany doors, immediately greeted by the aroma of slow-braised meats, aged wine, and something vaguely mystical—a scent that whispered of forgotten dreams and midnight revelations.
The waiter, a slender man with an air of practiced elegance, led him to his table.
"Welcome, Mr. Moretti," the waiter intoned. "Would you care to start with our recommended appetizer?"
Klein barely glanced at the menu before nodding. "I'll trust the chef's recommendation."
Minutes later, a delicate plate of Shadow-Cured Salmon arrived, the translucent fish glistening under the soft candlelight. Thin slices of smoked salmon, cured in a secret blend of sea salt, black truffle, and Evernight herbs, were arranged atop a bed of charcoal-infused cream cheese, paired with a crisp, golden-brown crostini.
Klein took a bite.
The first sensation was the cool silkiness of the salmon, melting against his tongue. Then came the depth of flavor—the smoky undertones, the subtle whisper of truffle, and the haunting, lingering finish of Evernight spices that left him feeling like he had just stepped into a dream.
"Exquisite," he murmured, scribbling furiously in his notebook. "The salmon is cured to perfection, the cream cheese adding just the right touch of richness. The truffle… ah, it lingers like a secret whispered under the moonlight. If the Evernight Goddess had a favorite midnight snack, this would be it."
The waiter returned, smiling. "Would you care for the main course?"
Klein nodded. "Bring me the Moonlit Truffle Soup."
Moments later, the dish was presented in an elegant obsidian bowl, steam rising in delicate curls that almost seemed to form sigils in the air. The soup itself was a velvety, deep midnight color, speckled with silver flecks of truffle essence, as if the night sky had been distilled into liquid form.
He lifted the spoon and took a sip.
For a brief, terrifying moment, Klein forgot where he was. The flavors washed over him in waves—earthy black truffle, delicate moonflower essence, and a richness so profound it felt like drinking the night itself. His vision blurred, and he swore he could hear distant bell chimes, as though he had stepped onto the very threshold of divinity.
He slammed his spoon down. "Holy crap."
"Sir?" the waiter asked, mildly concerned.
Klein inhaled deeply, gripping the edge of the table. "I just… I think I almost ascended."
The waiter nodded solemnly. "That is a common reaction."
Klein scribbled furiously in his notebook:
"This is not merely soup. This is an experience. A revelation. If the Evernight Goddess had whispered the secrets of the universe into a bowl, this would be the result. Also, I briefly saw my own past life. Would drink again."
Then came dessert: A Dreamweaver's Kiss, a confection so delicate it was said to blur the lines between wakefulness and sleep.
A delicate honey-infused panna cotta, crowned with lavender mist and adorned with edible moonstone sugar, was placed before him. Klein took a bite and immediately felt weightless, as if he were drifting between the realms of consciousness.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard Will Auceptin chuckling.
"An absolutely divine dessert. Flavors so light they almost escape reality itself. I may or may not be dreaming right now. 10/10."
As Klein finished his meal, he sat back, fully satisfied yet haunted by the culinary experience he had just undergone.
And so, he did what any responsible gourmet journalist would do—he paid the bill, left a generous tip, and promptly staggered home to take a well-earned nap.
Tomorrow, he would continue his never-ending journey to find the best food the world had to offer.
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Next Chapter: Klein braves the mystical street food of Backlund, where he encounters a dish rumored to be made from the meat of an unknown Beyonder creature.
Will he survive?
Will he become addicted?
Will he accidentally gain a Sequence advancement from eating a particularly cursed dish?
Find out next time in The Fool's Gourmet Tour!