On each date at Tiger Spring I would go through the pretence of reading the menu before selecting the same dish. And I’d give each woman the same spiel about how this place was a hidden gem, how the chef here was a genius, how although it didn’t look much the food was world class. All lies, of course – their food is average, any real culinary quality entirely serendipitous – but most of them couldn’t tell, even after the food arrived.
I have a short story titled ‘Bait’ in the latest issue of Cōnfingō magazine.
You can buy a copy here.