“Guest Notes”

Every service leaves behind a few lines of dialogue that don’t make it to the check.
Collected, they read like a natural history of dining — the evolving language of curiosity, complaint, and misplaced confidence.

The Revisionist: “We’ll build our own tasting menu.”
The Scientist: “Can I see the lab where you made this foam?”
The Minimalist: “We just want steak.”
The Theorist: “Is this dish a commentary on late capitalism?”
The Prophet: “In Toronto, this would be Michelin.”
The Historian: “We used to come here when it was good.”
The Realist: “We’ll just split one course and watch.”
The Purist: “Can I have mine without all the chef stuff?”
The Influencer: “Could you move the light closer to the plate?”
The Skeptic: “Is this cooked?”
The Romantic: “We’re celebrating something we can’t afford.”
The Minimal Researcher: “What’s a scallop?”
The Doctor: “I’m allergic to pretension.”
The Negotiator: “If I order the tasting, can I still get fries?”
The Poet: “It tastes like a memory I don’t want.”
The Accountant: “This would be cheaper in Montreal.”
The Anthropologist: “Is this what chefs eat after hours?”
The Survivalist: “Can I get a box?”
The Technologist: “Does the QR code pair with the wine?”
The Comedian: “Do we clap when it melts?”
The Ghost: “We’ve been here before.”