At the restaurant, Collette was just as excited as Alfredo about my new transformation. After I had changed into a uniform, she bombarded me with questions about what it was like to be different. I told her all about my earlier thoughts and findings. I even told her the things that I disliked about being human, especially the weird fur, and she laughed. Alfredo asked a few questions too as he went through the mail. The conversation soon disolved into other random things, and then I was left aside as Alfredo and Collette started up some playful banter. It was great that they loved each other so much, but between Collette's strong, take charge sort of personality and Alfredo's goofy stuttering, it was awkward to watch.

It was surprising that they weren't shocked at all by the change. Even though the wish came true, shouldn't they be surprised that it even worked? I didn't want to press into it too much with them, but I made a mental note to hint at it later with either one of them.

The whole first half of the work day was spent peeling, slicing, dicing, and preparing stock for later. My thoughts were mostly preoccupied with impressing the new critic. I hadn't even seen a picture of him before; all I knew was that he was American. All the more reason to make this the best experience ever. Americans were known for growing up on instant or fast foods. Their only true specialty was with steak, a tradition since America was a young country. For this critic I had in mind something simple, a perfect introduction to French cuisine: Chicken Cordon Bleu. Simple meal, but effective for a start off into the world of food.

Later that evening, just I started preparing the critic's dish, Ego came to visit the kitchen. He arrived through the back door and made Collette nearly jump out of her skin with his sudden appearance. Alfredo was mopping the floor at the moment and the waiter, Alphonse, had just come in from taking orders. We all stopped to stare at him. True, we were all friends by now, but he still held to that creepy aura. He mentioned once that it was his signature. We mentioned back that it was bullshit, but he just laughed.

"Don't stop on my account, I just wanted to drop by for a visit," he said with a smile. He looked once around the kitchen, as if looking for something in particular. His eyes finally found me by the pan of chicken I was preparing. I smiled back and waved.

"Where's the chef rat?" he asked Alfredo. Oh great. This was going to be complicated. He believed a rat could cook though, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad?

Collete did most of the explaining. Alfredo was of little help with his constant "ums" and "errs." Was he really still scared of Ego that much? Ego listened in silence, his expression reminiscent of when we first showed him I could cook. He nodded when she was through and walked over to me. I suddenly realized I had been doing nothing but staring at him the whole time. The chicken was sitting untouched. Shit.

"So you're Remy, formerly the rat chef?"

"Yes, sir."

"Show me, then."

"Show you?"

"Yes, I want to confirm this with my own eyes." He found a stool and set it near my station to watch me cook. Now I had an audience, a grim faced audience to be honest, but an audience nonetheless. To be honest, I loved having audiences, even if it makes me sound self centered. I relaxed and set into the pan of chicken once again. The waiter had finished sticking up all the order's and Collette was now going through them.

"Uh, hey Remy, the critic ordered something different."

"What?!"

"He just wants soup, and water instead of wine." My mind went blank for a moment. No wine? Here? In Paris? I took a deep breath to calm myself before I could explode.

"Alphonse." The waiter was straigteining out a pile of clean wash rags. He turned obediently at the sound of his name.

"Didn't you tell the critic I had something prepared for him in advance?"

"Yes, sir, but he...he said he's vegetarian." Vegetarian! What kind of food critic was he? Does he really even know anything about food? I noticed the hand I had around a bottle of herbs was shaking. Everyone was staring at me with wide eyes, likely worried about the rage that was etched on my face. Ego remained calm though.

"Go ahead and make the order Remy. He's a young critic, and obviously not a very good one. I doubt if his review will be read by the public," Ego advised. I sighed and looked back sadly at the glistening chicken. The now wasted chicken. The fact that the critic would never taste what French cooking truly had to offer was almost heartbraking. Collette quietly took the chicken away after reading the emotions on my face. I muttered a thanks that no one could hear.