Sabot Élégant's not so savory adventure
You stand in front of the Foin Exquis, a new up-and-coming restaurant in Ponyville. You had heard of this restaurant ever since it opened a few months ago, but you didn't think much of it back then. The restaurant's facade is quite interesting, you think to yourself. Red bricks and large windows surrounded by black frames. On the roof, you can see two large chimneys: this is an old industrial building converted into a fine dining restaurant.
You remember reading in an interview with the owner the reasoning behind that choice: something about turning the common into the refined, a place for the working class to eat like Canterlotian nobles, with food being a vessel for social ascension. It bordered on the pretentious, and the owner used many nonsensical buzzwords to give himself a pseudo-philosophical aura, but you're still ready to give this place a chance. You have been surprised by similar establishments in the past, after all.
Around you, many of Ponyville's inhabitants begin to pour inside for the evening as tonight's a special occasion. There had been rumors that Equestria's most famous and secretive food critic, Sabot Élégant, was going to visit this restaurant and rate it in The Canterlotian Times' food column. Sabot Élégant's true identity being a mystery, many ponies attempted to find him whenever rumors of his passage leaked.
As you walk closer to the entrance, you notice a waitress greeting guests, nervously looking around for Sabot Élégant. She is looking for you. Of course, as you pass by her, she doesn't recognize you: everything from the way you are dressed to the way you're acting is made to remain inconspicuous. The waitress barely even acknowledges your presence, quickly barking a table for you to sit at before turning back towards the incoming crowd. It was obvious that she aimed to please Sabot above everypony else, at the expense of the other 'unimportant' guests.
You sit down, making a mental note of the lukewarm greeting. Before opening the menu in front of you, you take a moment to observe the room and its diners. The Foin Exquis is a big restaurant, able to seat a great number of ponies due to the building's large size. Scattered around the room, you can see many circular tables made from a darker wood (you quickly recognize the material as walnut) covered in lace tablecloth.
On the ceiling hangs a large crystal chandelier with magical candles able to illuminate the entire room. On the walls, there are photos of the factory before it went bankrupt followed by many pictures of the transformation process, ending with the restaurant's owner, an old beige pegasus with a dark, short mane, standing proudly. It honestly feels like this whole place was decorated haphazardly, with little rhyme or reason and even less fashion sense. Your good friend Rarity will surely despise this fashion faux pas, you think.
Speaking of the devil, you can see her enter the restaurant now. Unlike you, she is extremely easy to notice as she is dressed to the nines, aiming to impress and to draw all the attention. You know this, because you and her are in cahoots: while Sabot Élégant's true identity is unknown by many, some consider it an open secret that Ponyville's most famous fashionista is also its most revered food critic. Of course, this was a ploy created to keep attention away from you whenever you visited places where you were afraid to be recognized. Rarity gets the opportunity to show off while enjoying a free meal (after all, that's the very least you can do for a lady) while you get to protect your anonymity.
Of course, if you happen to be there every time Rarity goes to a restaurant, some insightful ponies might see through your trick. That's why you sometimes leak false rumors of Sabot's visit and send Rarity on her own. She never refuses a free gourmet meal, but above all, she always enjoys helping her friends. She does often ask to invite some other ponies so as to not eat alone. Of course, you pay for these ponies' meals as well. Money was not an issue for you thanks to the generous pay from the Canterlotian Times as well as your other main job.
As time went on, more and more ponies arrived. Rumors of Sabot Élégant's visits tended to draw in larger crowds: another way for you to protect your secret identity. This was quite important, as whenever you judged a restaurant, you don't want to be treated favorably: you want the real, regular experience. You also want to give restaurant owners a chance, so you often leak your visits in advance so that the staff knows to be ready on specific nights. A bit contradictory, yes - wanting the regular experience, while also warning restaurants in advance - but this is your way of doing things. And, given your popularity, many others agreed with your modus operandi.
Finally reading through the menu, you begin to formulate on what you will base your evaluation. Since this restaurant claims to be dedicated to the common folk while also elevating its customers, you expect to see classics done in fancy ways. After making your choice, you wait for someone to take your order. You wait five minutes, then ten, then fifteen... And still nopony comes to you. The waiters are all seemingly focused on Rarity and her friends' table, ignoring the other customers. Your head shakes imperceptibly. So far, this isn't a pleasant experience. You hope that the food will save this place.
Finally, after thirty minutes of being neglected, a waiter comes to you. A young colt visibly anxious, probably on a summer job. You feel bad for the child, as he is clearly outside of his comfort zone. With a reassuring smile, you slowly dictate your order. The colt messes up a few times, mixing up words and dishes, but he still takes the time to recite your order back at you to make sure he gets it right. You decide not to penalize the restaurant based on that experience: the colt is obviously not trained for this, and you were a child once, too. Five minutes later, your waiter leaves your table, finally having taken your order correctly. Now, all you must do is to wait.
Your first plate arrived remarkably quickly. For your appetizer, you ordered Prench onion soup: not really one of your favorite dishes, but you decided to give it a go. It has been brought to your table in a fancy ceramic bowl, brown freckles spread across an off-white surface. The shape itself is interesting: it reminds you of an hourglass, but with the bottom half squished and widened. Inspecting the soup itself, you notice that it looks a bit darker than usual. This could be for a variety of reasons, such as the addition of specific ingredients or spices. Holding a spoon, you taste your appetizer and immediately figure out why it's that color.
It's burned.
And by burned, you mean almost every component of the onion soup. The butter must've been placed in a pan that was way too hot. The onions weren't caramelized but scorched to Tartarus and back. Even the baguette slice was burnt - did they add it in the pan as well? Disappointed, you slowly finish your soup. It is unfortunate that they burnt most of the ingredients because this soup definitely has some potential, you think. You hope that your next course will not be as tragic.
Waiting for the waiter to bring your main course, you take a moment to observe the other diners once again. Rarity seems to be enjoying herself, her food looking much better than yours. More signs of the staff's favoritism. The other tables are all discussing amongst themselves, sometimes glancing at the room like you to try and figure out who Sabot Élégant could be.
You also notice the Cutie Mark Crusader across the room. These three fillies have been trying to find their cutie marks for a while now and have been getting in all sorts of hijinks. You yourself have been the target of some of these hijinks. Their eyes meet yours as they wave, a wide grin on their faces. They're probably trying to see if they can get food critic cutie marks. You do wonder how they've managed to spare the bits to eat at a fancy restaurant, though. You wave back at them, then focus on the colt bringing your next dish.
Still somewhat nervous, the colt awkwardly places your cauliflower curry in front of you. He asks if you need anything else and you answer that you'd like to try some of the restaurant's wine as well. You expect the child to go get an adult to take care of that matter, but he seems to be taking this task in his own hoofs. He explains that the restaurant offers a local fruity rosé. It's obvious that the colt is mindlessly repeating what the staff told him to offer without really understanding what he was saying. This does strike you a bit odd, as you haven't heard of any local winery around Ponyville. How local could this wine be? You do ask for a glass, however. With a nod, the colt leaves your table to fetch the bottle. You decide to start your inspection of your curry.
With your first bite, everything seems good. The color doesn't hint at another burnt mess and your plate looks quite appetizing. You take a first bite of just the rice with the curry sauce and immediately, you start feeling hopeful for this restaurant. It tastes good. Great, even. The flavors are perfectly balanced, each ingredient being notable without becoming overpowering. It's almost enough to bring a tear to your eye. Picking a piece of cauliflower with your fork, you bite into it with your eyes closed. You slowly chew, then swallow.
Trying another piece, your disappointment comes back. The cauliflower is undercooked, almost raw. This course was so close to being perfect, but there had to be something wrong to ruin it. Well, maybe 'ruin it' is a bit extreme, but it does knock the dish a few points back... From a nine out of ten to a five or six. Oh, well, at least you can eat this without torturing your taste buds, unlike your appetizer.
You then notice the young colt walking back towards you, balancing a bottle on his withers. He apologizes for taking so long (you don't really think he was gone for that long) and then climbs the chair in front of you. You notice the other waiters staring daggers at the child, as this is highly unprofessional behavior. You don't mind, however, and stifle a chuckle. Now being able to reach above your glass, he pours you a glass of rosé with his fore legs with a surprising expertise. This colt would make an excellent sommelier, you think. You almost expect the child to gain his cutie mark in this instant, but that doesn't happen. After being done, he quickly climbs back down, oblivious to his colleagues' stares. You thank him then take a sip.
The taste reminds you of Pinot Noir because that's exactly what it is. This also means that this wine is everything but local: while some Equestrian wineries make their own, this Pinot Noir is of great quality... The kind that is only produced in Prance. You wonder why it would be presented as a local variety when its true origins are a lot more refined and noble. Remembering the goal of this restaurant, the answer appears to you: if they did claim that this wine was imported from Prance, it would go against their goal of taking the 'common' and elevating it. You certainly don't agree with lying to customers, however.
You slowly finish your main course in silence, occasionally sipping your glass as time goes on. Soon enough, you're done and a pegasus waitress comes to pick up your empty plate. It's been a while since you've noticed the colt in the room, however. You can only hope that he hasn't gotten into trouble for his atypical approach to serving wine. Then again, why do they let children handle alcohol?
All that is left for you, now, is the dessert. You ordered a Ponyville classic: a simple slice of apple pie. They cannot mess this up, you think. You're proud to say that Ponyville produces the best apples of the region and as such, you expect nothing but perfection. As you begin to salivate at the thought of freshly baked apples, the same pegasus waitress brings your dessert to the table. However, before the plate has even a chance to touch the table, you notice something. The apples in the pie look... Wrong. You're not sure why exactly, but you get a bad feeling from them.
The waitress forces a smile and drily tells you to enjoy your pie before leaving. You take a closer look at your pie. Next to it, there is a scoop of vanilla ice and decide to start with it, dreading the pie slice. The ice cream tastes good, probably made here in the restaurant. That's good, you think. Maybe you're just overanalyzing everything... But then again, that's your job here. And you do think you're an apple connoisseur yourself. So, you take a bite of your pie, hoping for the worst.
Your mouth is met with mediocrity. The apples inside the pie taste bland, certainly nothing like the apples produced by Sweet Apple Acres. You're certain that these apples aren't local to Ponyville and you start to think about other apple farms in Equestria, trying to figure out where this restaurant has gotten its apples. That's when it hits you: it tastes bland because these apples aren't fresh. And you don't mean as in, apples that are a few days old. They taste frozen. There are a few companies in the world that mass-produces apples and freezes them for transport. While incredibly cheap, they are also tasteless.
You're just confused, now. This restaurant has the perfect opportunity for fresh, local apples. Why go through the trouble of buying this frozen crap? It's almost insulting. Scratch that, it is insulting. You force yourself to finish your dessert, but you're fuming with anger inside. Of course, you don't let it show and you maintain your composure. You've barely had the time to finish eating your desserts when you see the waitress back at your table, holding the bill in her mouth. She places it in front of you in an almost aggressive manner: clearly, she wants you gone so she and the rest of the staff can focus on other, more 'important' guests. She asks you almost sarcastically if you enjoyed your meal.
As you place your bits on the table, you think back on everything you've experienced so far. The odd decoration, the disdain for everypony that isn't Sabot Élégant, the employment of untrained, underaged and overstressed waiters, the food that's either burnt, undercooked or frozen and the passive-aggressiveness of the waitress in front of you... Your review is certainly going to be scathing. You can only hope that the owner of the Foin Exquis will take it as an opportunity to learn from his mistake and to grow into something great... But you know it probably won't happen. As you stand up, you finally answer the waitress question, even though she's already no longer paying attention to you. With a smirk, you answer as you leave:
"Eeyup."
Author's Note
Honestly, this story was just a dumb idea I had while cooking one day. I wanted to see what I could do with it, and I'm happy with it.
