"Everything we've strived for, all of our long hours experimenting, perfecting, and combining... All of our sleepless nights, days on end, working through sliced and burned fingers... It all culminates tonight, when Coeur De Wew finally sends their top food critic- Pardon me, their Conseiller Excécutif Nutritiments- to write a review; or La Revue- of our menu."

Executive Chef Kelvin Carbano was generally a well tempered chef, great at inspiring his staff to excel at whatever task was given to them. They were each and all apart of the magic as much as Kelvin, yet curse ye that didn’t praise his gilded conducting of the kitchen. After 18 months of menu prep and a very successful soft opening, his restaurant "Bolt and Svvine" was exploding in popularity thanks to many food blogs and Instagram posts praising the deliciously creative and complex menu.

“Alright, Marques, you will go to the microgreens warehouse and pick up everything they have between 3.5 and 5.5 centimeters. If there are no red colored microgreens in that range, you can go a size up, but I don’t want ANYTHING over 6.5 centimeters.”

Marques didn’t even blink. He was out the door and cycling away on his city bike with immaculate white tires. “Jen, you are on flower petal and butterfly wing duty. I trust you know what to do. Get double just in case- Triple even!” Kelvin ordered.

Jen was already out the door before Kelvin said triple, but she already knew to get at least four times the amount of product he asked for, and he knew that she knew. Chef Carbano had always respected Jen’s non-assuming people-pleasing skills, but his true Protégé, his number two, his crème de jour crème; was Jorbi Montezelli. Montezelli was a magician, he waved his knife and true culinary sorcery would prestigitize the restaurant.

Sous-chef Jorbi Montezelli was a kind and beloved gentlemen whose elegance and charisma were only outclassed by his skills in the kitchen. It came as a surprise to no-one when Chef Carbano announced, “Jorbs, my number two, our master of oils and king of spices, I allow you to choose the cook who’ll fetch your signature spice.”

Everyone in the room bit their lips, butterflies jolting in their bellies while they awaited in agonizing anticipation for who the lucky cook was going to be fetching Jorbi’s spice. Jorbi grinned such a charming grin as he looked around the kitchen that two of the cooks passed out onto the floor, one of their heads splashing into a scalding grease trap. Jorbi’s eyes flickered from one cook to the next, calculating who he’d honor with this task.

His gaze finally rested on an unlikely subject. One of the newer cooks, Dave, had been somewhat of a black sheep in this happy Bolt and Svvine family. Everyone looked on in horror as they realized that they’d been passed up by “DD,” the nickname that Dave had earned himself in his first week, when he’d taken too long in the restroom and missed a crucial truffle delivery. It stood for Dimwit Dave.

“Cucini Dave, our magnifico ragazzo! Will you be a lovable ragazzi and fetch’a my spice?” said the fabulous Montezelli. The rest of the staff, even Chef Carbano, applauded the controversial choice, because Montezelli could do no wrong.

Dave’s own butterflies were really starting to stir. He was nervous and excited at the same time, however, Dave wasn’t sure he was up to this task. Dave stared into Montezelli’s eyes. He realized he must have been staring directly into his pupils for over five minutes. Embarrassed, he looked away, only to see the rest of the kitchen staff completely frozen in time.

He looked back towards the Sous-chef. What he saw was no longer Jorbi’s face, but something truly nefarious, a vile malevolence that had no purpose other than to create wretched chaos. It was something primordial that has taken many different forms in it’s time on Earth, although Earth wasn’t it’s first rodeo. It’s face was gaunt and gray, its eyes rotated like clock hands as they fixated on Dave. It’s mouth was agape, a smile so filled with hatred and anger that it forced Dave to empty his bowels into his pants.

Dave had no idea what was going on. The air was stale, and the room so deathly quiet that his ears began to ring. He looked back at the wicked smile, and one of Jorbi’s canine teeth began to slowly rotate downwards, like a wretched unicorn’s horn. When it reached 6 inches below the chin, a single dewdrop formed at the end, pure white and glowing. Dave’s eyes locked onto that dewdrop for longer than a human mind can comprehend. When it finally dripped off the tooth, the sound of millions of tortured souls begging for freedom rushed into Dave’s ears, and he heard and knew each prayer that was spoken.

The second the dew drop hit the floor, Dave looked up and everything was normal. He gasped, sighed, and fell against the marble island he was standing beside. “You’ve got this, Dave!” roared Chef Carbano, who came up behind him and straightened him out.

Everything that had just happened to Dave was slipping from his mind rapidly, but he could never forget the horror of that smile. He looked at where the dewdrop fell, and it was still there. His eyes darted to Jorbi’s eyes, and a knowing wink awaited him. It was the last time Jorbi ever acknowledged Dave.

After a quick change of pants and getting things in order, Dave was on his way to retrieve one of Bolt and Svvine’s most prized ingredients: Jorbi’s signature spice. The instructions on how to retrieve the spice included a sun bleached map that had to have been hand drawn on papyrus. Dave tried to reference the papyrus with his maps app, but nothing was matching up. Finally, Dave recognized one of the words on the map, and realized that it was a river he used to visit as a child.

He cross checked his maps app, and the river was still there at the far end of town. That helped Dave translate the first instruction on the list, which was to grab the old 22 foot canoe from the storage shed.

After a grueling hour of trying to attach the 22 foot canoe to his smart car, he was finally on his way to the mouth of the river. He scanned over the instructions and realized that he'd need to swing by the pet store before the river, as step 2 involved birds and reptiles for some reason. He pulled off the road and stopped off at Blap's Exotic Animal Boutique.

"Hello, welcome to Blap's! Can we help you find the right pet-" the cashier was cut off mid sentence by a frantic Dave.

"Sorry, I'm in a real rush for work today, but yes, I really need your help. I need 5 milk snakes and as many budgies and parrots you have available. Please put them in the smallest bin you can fit them into, I don't have a lot of space in my car," Dave bellowed, short of breath and looking pale.

The cashier didn't even blink, he just bent down and grabbed an old microwave box. He jogged over to the snake tank and tossed 5 milk snakes into the box with a thud. Next he darted to a huge white wire cage and pressed the box over the door, opened it, and began to shake budgies into the box.

"I don't have any parrots," the cashier yawned, "but I got about 60 budgies into this box with the snakes for you. He had to use both arms, but was able to get the box closed even though it was stuffed tight. While pressing down hard on the box, he taped it shut and stabbed a pen into the top to make sure the animals would have some air. The pen was red when he pulled it out.

"Alright, that will be $650," How will you be paying?" The cashier said lazily, leaning onto the counter with his arms crossed.

Dave hadn't thought about that. He checked the instructions to see if it said anything about petty cash or reimbursement, but there was nothing to find. "Let me call my boss, just a sec." Dave said as he pulled out his phone. The cashier was already sound asleep and unresponsive.

The phone went directly to a robotic voice saying that "the mailbox had not yet been set up, goodbye."

Dave paced around for a second before waking up the cashier. "Do you take apple pay?"

...

Dave threw the box of animals into his trunk, and very carefully folded the receipt and put it into his glove compartment. I will be reimbursed. Step three was the final step, and it said to load the animals into the canoe and head south down the river.

Memories filled Dave's thoughts as he saw the river where he used to play as a child. He parked his car along the bank and unloaded the canoe, dragged it down the slope, and put it into the river. He went back to the car, grabbed the microwave box full of birds and snakes, and slid it down the slope. The box glided down quickly until it fell into the river.

Dave fished the box out of the river, turned it upside down, and let about 2 cups of water pour through the air hole. When it stopped dripping, he tossed it into the canoe and carefully boarded the vessel. He unclipped the oar from the interior, pushed off the bank, and began to row Southward.

The weather was magnificent. The sun shined on his face and he took in its warmth as he paddled gently down the glass-smooth river. He smiled with his eyes closed and took a deep breath, finally able to find solace during this troublesome errand. And then the air changed. Dave opened his eyes, and his stomach churned as his heart sank.

Instead of the typical birch trees on either side of the river, he saw thick jungle. The humidity was almost unbearable as Dave began to pour sweat. He saw monkeys, exotic birds, and every other type of jungle animal that could come to mind. He looked behind him and saw an endless river, no sign of his car or the bank he had just embarked from. With no other plan, he began rowing faster down the river.

After a while, he began to hear tribal drumming. His eyes widened when saw human heads mounted on spears, three in a row on the right side of the river. He recognized the last head, a line cook named Winston who was the previous spice retriever. But Winston came back, I saw him hand Jorbi the spice...

An arrow grazed Dave's cheek. Ten more landed around the canoe. He had no time to panic, as he looked up and saw a rope bridge dangling over the river. It was loaded with 35 men in tribal garb, all screaming at full volume with simple bows pointed directly at the canoe. Dave had to think fast, and decided to quickly open the box and rip out a bright blue budgie, holding it high over his head. “MONTEZELLI! JORBI- JORBI MONTEZELLI!”

The tribal men on the bridge began looking back and forth at each other and began screaming and sobbing with chilling, fear-stricken voices. They began diving off of the bridge, intentionally aiming head first towards the rocks. The scene was too intense for Dave to watch, he closed his eyes and covered his ears, accidentally smashing the budgie against the side of his skull.

When Dave could hear the screaming subside, he opened his eyes and saw that all of the tribal warriors had successfully decimated their own heads. There was now a dam in the river; a pile of bodies with ruby red water stopped up and blocking the flow. Dave had no choice but disembark from the canoe, still hearing tribal drumming in the distance. He grabbed the box of animals and followed the sounds of bongos, djembes and whatever other boring things they were hitting.

When Dave arrived to the village, spearmen quickly intercepted and surrounded him, pressing their sharp tipped points into his sides. The drumming stopped, and everyone in the village ran over and circled around Dave, beginning to chant, “Keel Re-doaha; Bine Vo-korka!”

Dave hissed as one of the spears broke through his pants and into his thigh. “Enough!” Dave yelled, once again opening the box of animals. There weren’t too many budgies that were still alive on the top layer, but he grabbed one that was twitching and lifted it up again, this time an emerald green bird. The spearmen removed their spears from Dave and dropped them, each face more grim than the last. The entire village looked as if they had each just stubbed their toe, awaiting the pain to come.

“Montezelli. Jorbi’s spice. Now.”

The villagers began rolling on the floor, ripping their hair out as they kicked and sobbed, some swallowing their tongues and dying immediately. After a minute of this, one of the larger huts opened its doors, and five cloaked figures walked out, each with their own attendant. One of the smaller attendants walked over to Dave, took the box, and went back to the circle the cloaked figures had begun to form. Each attendant took one milk snake and one budgie, and distributed them to their cloaked masters. The rest of the budgies were dumped onto the floor, causing a stampede of villagers to dogpile on the birds and stuff them into their mouths.

The attendants walked back into the large hut as the cloaked figures began devouring the snakes and budgies, the drums resuming with a vengeance as they chewed, causing Dave’s eyes to vibrate in their sockets. The attendants returned, each with a copper pot. When the cloaked figures finished, they turned towards their attendants and fell to their knees, puking into the pots. The drumming intensified, warping Dave’s senses as to what was happening.

One of the elder villagers laid down in the middle of a stone ring, and the attendants walked towards her with the pots on their heads, hands clapping to the beat of the drums. In unison, the attendants poured the pots out all over the elder, and a stench unlike anything Dave had ever smelled wafted directly into his buzzing nostrils. Dave collapsed as the drumming grew even louder, altering the pattern of his heartbeat for life with the intense banging. Another villager placed his hand on a stone tablet and let out a guttural moan, which brought a pillar of white hot fire down on the elder villager.

The last thing Dave saw was the crystal white, bright glowing body of the elder as the drumming became one long bass frequency. He closed his eyes and continued hearing the loud humming and buzzing. He felt like a kid again, more comfortable than he’d felt in years, as if he was laying in his childhood bed on a cool autumn morning. He remained in this blissful state for a long while, always hearing the fading tone of the drums. And then there was nothing.

And then there was clapping. Laughing, and pats of congratulation up and down his back. Dave opened his eyes and found himself in the middle of Bolt and Svvine’s kitchen, Jorbi’s spice clutched in his hand. Executive Chef Kelvin Carbano slapped his back and lifted him up, exclaiming, “DD will always be remembered for what he is… Dependable Dave! You are the fastest spice runner yet, that took you what, a half hour?”

Dave’s tongue flopped out and he looked at a clock, having no idea what the object was or where he was.

...

That night, Coeur De Wew gave their highest possible medallion of honor to Bolt and Svvine, to reward what was their Conseiller Excécutif Nutritiments’ finest meal to date. His La Revue of the menu was so eloquently and descriptively written that the readers could almost taste the words. Bolt and Svvine’s popularity exploded that night, and there has been a three year waitlist ever since. Chef Kelvin Carbano became an overnight celebrity, and has three Netflix cooking shows of his own.

What the La Revue truly praised the highest of the entire meal, the highlight of the night, was the incredible spice that he had never before tasted. He wrote three beautiful and angelic paragraphs about Jorbi’s signature spice, each of which was canonized and added to the Bible thousands of years later. Famous chefs, reviewers, tasters, and even somaliers begged Montezelli for the secret spice, but he never spoke of it, and only smiled when prodded.

Dave quit Bolt and Svvine the next morning and spent the rest of his short life wading his way through the Southward river, endlessly mumbling to himself. A blue speck floated towards him, and when it finally drifted close enough, he saw it was a dead blue budgie. He fell backwards into the water, eyes wide and mouth agape.