“It’s hard to impress me with chicken.” The critic slumped backwards, arms folded. “Try something a bit less… pedestrian. I’ll be back on Monday. You had better have something good for me then.” He stood up, leaving his food, and strode out haughtily.

The dish, pollo asado, had taken me all day to make, and he had only taken a single bite before dismissing it. The achiote paste, the naranja agria juice, the hours marinating, and the perfect grilling, all for nothing. Damn him.

I took the plate, trudged back into the kitchen, and handed it to the dishwasher, Dan. I hung up my apron and leaned against the wall. He stabbed the chicken with a fork, and took a huge bite, his eyes lighting up. “Hmmmph! This is really good!” He said through a mouthful of chicken.

I sighed. “Thanks Dan. I wish the reviewers had the same opinion.”

He rolled his eyes. “Screw them. This is great. Go home and rest. You’ll come up with something that’ll win them over.”

I gave him a thumbs up, and walked out the door. I didn’t believe him though. If that chicken didn’t work, nothing would. Some people are just impossible to please. I arrived home and slumped into my couch, staring up at the ceiling. That critic had called ahead weeks ago, asking to write an article about the restaurant. I hadn’t realized he’d be so harsh. I racked my brain for another recipe, anything to win him over. Suddenly, an idea came to me. I grinned. This was going to be fun.

For the next few days, I gathered ingredients, and finally put them all together in the restaurant’s kitchen. I peeked through the door, and saw the critic sitting expectantly in a small corner booth. I took a deep breath, and carried the meal out to him. I set it in front of him, and he glared at me. “I hope you have brought me something worth my time,” he huffed. I bit back a smile.

He took a bite, and raised his eyebrows. “Finally, something appropriate. Well done, chef.”

I smirked. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed the Thai basil chicken.”