Gordon Ramsay shows up at your door and demands you cook him something. Assuming obtaining ingredients isn’t an issue, what do you cook him?

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Overcooked, unseasoned filet mignon served on a roof tile instead of a plate, doused in an incredibly overpowering sauce that I thought of in a dream. The meat was cooked last night, thrown in the fridge on the same tray as raw meat, and then boiled before serving on a stove that hasn’t been cleaned in 20 years and has a grease trap that looks like it’s filled with crude oil. The side is store-bought frozen ravioli reheated in a microwave with canned ragu, but I told him it’s fresh and made in-house. The first course is a salad with improperly washed, grilled lettuce, and its dressing is a ‘cultural fusion’ between two cultures that have no business meeting. The dessert is half a slice of chocolate cake that is clearly from the Cheesecake Factory that I bought a week ago. The fork has a bit of dried food stuck to it and there’s gum underneath the table. When questioned, I insist that I made everything that morning and pull out photos to prove it. He doesn’t believe me, I call him an egocentric liar who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. As he leaves, I pocket the tip he left for the waiter.


Undercooked scallops so I can hear him say “it’s fucking raw” to my face.


Cup of water.


He can eat with the toddlers. Organic Dinosaur Chicken Nuggets, mixed veggies, and a cup of milk.


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