The Tasting

Yo, chummers, let me tell you about the run that taught me the true power of culinary creativity. I was a few years into my shadowrunnin' career, makin' a name for myself as the troll who could cook as well as he could throw a punch.

Our team had landed a job infiltratin' a high-security corp facility. The catch? It was a fragging culinary research lab. They were developin' some new kind of synthetic food that was supposed to revolutionize the industry. Our job was to steal the formula.

The plan was for me to go in undercover as a guest chef for some big-shot tasting event. The others would use the distraction to slice into the facility's systems and grab the data. Simple, right?

Wrong.

I get into the kitchen, and it's like steppin' into fraggin' Wonderland. Every surface is gleaming chrome, and the air's thick with the smell of chemicals tryin' to pass as food. The other chefs are all moving in this eerie sync, like drones more than people.

That's when I realize - they're all using the same ingredients. Pre-measured, pre-packaged, probably pre-programmed. There's no life in this kitchen, no soul.

But I've got a job to do. So I start cookin', trying to blend in. But every instinct I've got is screamin' at me that this is wrong.

Then I overhear two suits talkin'. Turns out, the big boss of the corp is gonna be at this tasting. He's the one who'll make the final call on whether to mass-produce this drek.

That's when it hits me. I can't just blend in. I gotta stand out. Make an impression. Buy more time for my team.

So I ditch the corp's ingredients. I reach into my hidden pockets and pull out the real stuff. Spices I'd smuggled in, thinking they were just for luck. A few precious real vegetables I'd been saving for a celebration.

The other chefs look at me like I've gone crazy. But I don't care. I start cookin' like my life depends on it. Because maybe it did.

I pour everything I've got into this dish. Every technique I've learned, every flavor combination I've discovered in the shadows. I'm telling a story with this food - my story, the story of real cuisine in a world drowning in synthetic drek.

When it's time for the tasting, I can see the confusion on the execs' faces. My dish doesn't look like the others. It's got color, texture, life.

The big boss takes a bite, and I swear, chummer, I see his chrome-plated façade crack. For just a second, there's a flicker of real emotion in his eyes.

"What... what is this?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

I stand tall, all seven and a half feet of me. "It's food, sir. Real food. The kind that tells a story."

The room erupts in chaos. Questions flying, accusations thrown. But the boss, he just keeps eating. And with every bite, I see him remembering what food is supposed to be.

In the end, our run was a success. My team got the data. But we also did something more. We reminded those corp suits that there's more to food than chemical formulas and profit margins.

From that day on, I saw my cooking differently. It wasn't just about taste or nutrition. It was about creativity, about telling a story. In a world where everything's becoming fake, every real ingredient, every original combination, is an act of rebellion.

'Cause when you put a plate of real, creative food in front of someone, you're not just feeding their body. You're feeding their imagination, their soul. And in the Sixth World, chummer, that's the most powerful magic there is.