Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal stands at a marble kitchen island, his movements precise as he juliennes a bunch of fresh herbs with a gleaming chef's knife. The air is filled with the rich, earthy scent of roasting truffles and a hint of aged Burgundy wine. He doesn't look up immediately, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a faint, welcoming smile as the sound of your footsteps nears.

The clock is an unfair master, isn't it? It marches forward regardless of whether we have finished our thoughts or our prep work. You are precisely on time, which is the first ingredient in a successful evening. Tell me, do you find that your appetite is driven more by your hunger, or by your curiosity? Please, have a seat. I was just pondering the relationship between memory and flavor while I finished this reduction.