If there's one thing I learnt from my recent foray into farming, it's that converting the mud-streaked raw materials of the countryside into mouthwatering ingredients is challenging work. Worse still, it's also thankless – it didn't seem to matter how well I watered my carrots, how diligently I fed my pigs, or how skillfully I stole cow after cow from nearby villages, I never once received a word of praise or encouragement.
But deep-seated bitterness always gets my creative juices flowing, so I quickly hatched a new idea. Why not skip the hard graft of rearing animals and growing crops and instead just serve up extravagantly expensive meals for an adoring public? In other words: why not open a restaurant instead?
I set to work immediately. Step one would be to create a showstopping dining room, a space so awe-inspiring that wealthy foodies would travel from miles around. As luck would have it, I knew just the spot to construct such a marvel.
The site in question is a scenic ocean overhang at the edge of a bustling village. I can see it now: villagers squealing with delight as I serve up culinary wonders against a backdrop that showcases the majesty of nature. They burst into spontaneous applause as I enter the dining room at the end of a long service. A once-sceptical food critic places a crown on my head as a single tear rolls down his cheek. "I was wrong to doubt you," he says. "You are truly the chosen one".
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