Work Text:
Art by the amazing and talented sketchydean
Castiel glanced over the menu with a raised eyebrow. As the most renowned food critic in the Midwest, he’d seen his fair share of extravagant menus. Some of them had delivered on it, others had not. This one was promising, and he had high hopes it would deliver the absolute perfection he had come to anticipate in his line of work.
Seeing the server approach, Castiel set down his menu and picked up the wine list, glancing over it briefly. Since he’d be sampling mostly red meat that evening, he selected a nice Barolo to accompany his meal. He smiled politely at the server, a redheaded woman who had a slight pinch between her brows despite her perfect smile. Her eyes remained on Castiel’s face as she scrawled on her notebook, as if she was trying to place where she recognised him from.
“I’ll just get your wine for you, sir, and be back to take your order.” She disappeared for a few moments, leaving Castiel to glance around the restaurant.
It was a warm décor, rich reds and golds, the surfaces of the tables and bar giving a more rustic feel to the restaurant. The owner and head chef, one Dean Winchester had worked hard to build Petit Impala from nothing. He’d succeeded in a competitive business and it was damn near impossible to get a table. Even now, he could see the busy servers running around an almost-full dining room.
When the server – Charlie, Castiel noted from her nametag – returned with his wine, Castiel reached for the glass, swirling the burgundy liquid and holding it under his nose, inhaling deeply. He took a small sip, allowing the subtle flavours to envelope his palate. Rich, full-bodied, exactly what he wanted. He could even taste the rose tar and the dried herbs in the undertone.
“It’s perfect, thank you,” he murmured, settling the glass back down so Charlie could pour.
“Thank you,” she hesitated for a moment and then gave an awkward giggle, leaning down. “Sorry to bother you, but I was trying to decide if it was you or not… are you Castiel Novak, the food critic?”
Castiel didn’t reply immediately, raising his eyebrow. He’d expected to be recognised before he left, but he hadn’t expected it to happen quite like this.
“I have your book,” Charlie continued, babbling as she set the bottle down. “It was so fascinating, and I know that Dean, that’s the head chef, he’s obsessed with your reviews, he reads everything you ever print. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m talking too much. May I take your order?”
“Ah, yes. I’ll have the veal sweetbreads to start, followed by the roast pigeon.” Castiel handed his menu back over and leaned in. “Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that I was here. This is supposed to be an anonymous review, after all.”
“Oh absolutely,” Charlie assured him, with a wide-eyed panic on her face that Castiel just knew meant the entire staff would know the second she was out of his sight. With a sigh, he nodded to let her leave and pulled out his notebook. Well, there was no point in being discreet now after all.
Dean stood at the pass, surveying the kitchen with satisfaction. Everyone knew their stations, knew exactly what they were doing. He was startled when Charlie burst into the kitchen with a new order, but he reached out to take it from her, ignoring her excited babbling. He was used to it by now.
“Order up! Table twelve, one sweetbreads, one pigeon. What is it, Charlie?” He asked exasperatedly, tugging his sleeve free from her grasp.
“It’s a critic. Castiel Novak is here, that’s his table.”
Dean’s head snapped around to look at her and he stalked to the door, eyes narrowed as he looked over at table twelve. There was no doubt about it, that was absolutely Castiel Novak. He pursed his lips, thinking.
“Alright,” he raised his voice, commanding the attention of his staff. "Last order of one sweetbreads, one pigeon? This is now the most important dish you will ever make in your life. There’s a food critic in the restaurant, Castiel Novak no less. If anyone screws this dish, they’ll be out on their ass. Get it?”
“Yes, Chef!” His kitchen chorused, and Dean’s eyes flickered from the appetizers station and Balthazar working hurriedly, to the meat station and Benny. He nodded, mostly to himself. Castiel’s food was in good hands, Benny was one of the best chefs he’d ever hired, and Balthazar was more than capable.
He spent a few moments deliberating and then nodded to Charlie. “Keep an eye on him, refill his wine, get him anything he asks for. Let him know I’ll bring his food out myself. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time.”
Charlie raised her eyebrow but didn’t object, just left the kitchen. Dean returned to his position at the pass, keeping a watchful eye on the dining room whenever he had the chance.
Charlie approached shortly after she returned to the dining room, a slightly guilty look on her expression. “Chef has requested to personally bring your food out.”
Castiel gave a small sigh and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” He’d have to mention it in his review and it wouldn’t reflect favourably.
“He insisted,” Charlie pressed. “I’m sure it’s not meant as an attempt at influencing your review. Dean always says his food speaks for itself. He just wants to meet you, is all.”
Castiel bit back a smile and inclined his head. “Well, in that case, who am I to disappoint him? I’d be honoured to shake his hand if his food is as good as rumours dictate.”
“It’s better,” Charlie promised him, excusing herself to check on her other tables.
His sweetbreads arrived in record time, of course. Their arrival was preceded by the opening of the kitchen door and a tall, outrageously handsome man exited. He was dressed all in white, a white apron tied around his waist, and he was clutching a silver platter.
“It’s a pleasure to have the great Castiel Novak in my restaurant,” Dean smiled, setting down a plate and a small jug of a dark, viscous liquid in front of him. “I’m honoured. I’ve been trying to get you here for years.”
Castiel gave a polite smile and inclined his head. “Well, here I am. What opinion do you hold of the dishes I ordered?”
“Now, now, Castiel, isn’t that quite a biased question?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him, his smile turning into a brief smirk as one corner pulled up higher than the other. “You’re in my restaurant, all of the dishes are no less than perfect. Surely you wouldn’t expect me to talk down some of my dishes and suggest you should have ordered something else?”
Castiel hid his own widening smile by taking a small sip of his wine, peering at Dean over the top of the glass enigmatically. “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “Let me rephrase. Which is your favourite of the dishes? Say if you were to bring a loved one here, a spouse maybe. What would you recommend they order?”
“The sweetbreads, absolutely,” Dean admitted, stroking his chin as he thought about it. They were one of his bestsellers. “The pigeon is good but I think I would have suggested the turbot. The jus gras is to die for. Purely a matter of personal preference, of course.”
“Hmm,” Castiel mused. “And your chefs? Do I have the honour of your personal culinary prowess today?”
“Unfortunately not. But my chefs are an extension of me and they are more than capable of attending to your every need,” Dean replied smoothly, giving Castiel a daring wink.
To his horror, Castiel could feels his cheeks slowly turning red. He took another sip of his wine and cleared his throat. “A shame.”
Dean’s smile grew wider. “I’ll leave you to your dinner, Castiel, but I’ll make you a deal. If you order dessert? I’ll make it personally.” He returned to the kitchen, leaving Castiel slightly flushed, distracted completely from the meal sitting in front of him.
The food was delicious, of course. Castiel couldn’t fault a single thing. The sweetbreads were delicious, tender and creamy, the way they should be. The richness of the accompanying madeira sauce and the subtle nutty flavour of the celeriac served with it created a balance of flavours that was practically obscene on Castiel’s tongue.
He could see Charlie paying close attention as he ate, without looking knew that there would be people pressed up against the kitchen door, watching him through the small window. A food critic always caused a big stir, and Castiel knew he had quite the following. His reviews had been the make-or-break for a lot of restaurants over the years.
When he was finished, he allowed Charlie to take his plate and refill his wine, and picked up his pencil thoughtfully.
Charlie burst into the kitchen, her eyes wide. She’d been too busy attending to her tables to catch Dean since his little conversation with Castiel, but she needed to talk to him now.
“Are you mad?” She screeched, over the bustle of the kitchen. “Dean, you’re flirting with the food critic. If he takes offence, he’s never going to eat here again. He’ll put us out of business, you know how vicious some of his reviews have been just because he didn’t like the sauce or his steak was overdone.”
“Well gee, thanks,” Dean huffed, his brows knit together with mock-offence. “I’m not gonna scare off the damn critic, Charlie. It’s fine. It’s just a little conversation between courses. This is how I am, I’m charming.”
Charlie fixed him with her best not-amused look. “Yeah, you better hope he thinks so too, I’m gonna be pissed if I’m out of a job because of you, Winchester.”
Dean smirked at her. “He will. I’m irresistible.”
Charlie just rolled her eyes and swept back into the dining room, as Dean called for service on table twenty-one.
Dean focused on preparing meals for other tables, letting thoughts of the pressure created by having a food critic in his dining room slip from his mind. He worked steadily, and he worked hard. He adhered to the same standards he set for his staff, it created respect and made it easier to recognise when demands were unreasonable and when people were slacking.
“Table twelve?” He called out when Castiel’s table came up. “Pigeon! Now, please!”
“Behind you, Chief,” Benny replied loudly, setting down the pan beside him and ducking out of the way as the garnishes arrived.
Dean scrutinised the pigeon for a few moments, before nodding with satisfaction. “Great job, Benny, great job all round guys.” He assembled his food and took a deep breath before sweeping out of the kitchen, Castiel’s entree in hand.
Unlike before, Castiel smiled at his approach and greeted him softly, with familiarity. “Dean,” he smiled, peering at the plate in his hand. “That smells good.”
Dean laughed and set the plate down, letting Castiel have a more thorough look at the dishes. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to tell me that.”
A twinkle in his eye, Castiel turned his attention back to the chef. “No, I’m just not allowed to tell you if I think it tastes good. Technically. You’ll have to wait for the review to be printed.”
“I guess I’ll just have to keep my fingers crossed till then.” He teased. “Let Charlie know if you’d like to order dessert and I’ll whip you up your own Winchester special. Enjoy your meal.”
He returned to the kitchen, a wide smile on his face and returned to work. A little while later, Charlie stuck her head in the kitchen and called for him.
“Castiel wants a dessert. He says, and I quote, ‘tell him to surprise me’.”
Dean grinned. That, he could definitely do.
Castiel was feeling a little more relaxed after two amazing courses and the same number glasses of wine. He was sated, not too full. There was still room for a little something sweet, although he wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage the full thing. And yet, he would be insane to turn down the offer of a dessert cooked by the head chef. Dean Winchester certainly knew his trade, creator of all dishes included on the menu, so to have something solely cooked by him was a privilege few were afforded.
He waited patiently, sipping his third – and last – glass of wine. A lot of ethics had been broken here today, but he wasn’t all that surprised. He’d been wary of reviewing this restaurant in the first place, the reason he’d refused to for so long. A lot of his review could only be ethically correct if he disclosed the special treatment he’d been afforded. Of course, he took his job seriously and was honest to a fault. His critique would reflect that completely.
He glanced up when Dean left the kitchen, to see him clutching a silver cloche, covering whatever his dessert was meant to be. Noting the huge shit-eating grin on Dean’s face, he could only assume that whatever the dessert was, it was going to surprise him.
“Bon appetite,” Dean grinned cheekily, lifting the lid of the cloche.
Castiel peered at the small domed dessert with a curious expression, tilting his head curiously. Whatever it was lay on a crumb base, and had been covered in a bright blue mirror glaze.
“It’s a tonka mousse on a dark chocolate crumb base,” Dean volunteered, before he could ask. “It’s on the menu, don’t worry. I didn’t give you any special treatment. The only difference is that the glaze is usually pink.”
“Why blue?” Castiel asked.
“It brings out your eyes,” Dean murmured, taking a step back and returning to the kitchen without another word.
Castiel stared at the dessert for a long moment, before giving in and taking a spoonful. Naturally it was divine, not too sweet, not too bitter. The cocoa content of the chocolate was masked by the flavour of the tonka bean in the mousse. Despite previously worrying that he wouldn’t have room for the dessert, there was nothing left on his plate at the end.
He sat back, satisfied and very full. This had been a very successful visit, and he would be lucky if he didn’t have to unbutton his slacks for the taxi home. Flagging down Charlie, he asked her for the check as he wrote more scrawled notes in his book. He’d type it all up when he got home and it would hopefully hit the papers by the morning.
When the bill was paid and he’d left Charlie a sizeable tip, he tilted his head as he asked if it would be possible to speak to Dean once again before his departure. Dean seemed to have been expecting this, and emerged from the kitchen quite quickly.
“How was the dessert?” He asked sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get my smooth talk on and be unprofessional. I just couldn’t help it, you just looked so gorgeous sitting there, enjoying my food, and…”
Castiel smiled, reaching out and pressing a finger to Dean’s lips to shush him. “The dessert was perfect and you were great. I’d have to include this in my review anyway, you knew that. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that I was coming.”
“I’m not mad,” Dean assured him. “I’ve been trying to get you to come visit me at work for years. I should get back to the kitchen. I’ll see you at home?”
“I’ll be waiting,” Castiel promised, leaning in and brushing their lips together sweetly. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away immediately, leaning in for a second, lingering kiss and only pulling away when he heard a squeak and the sound of breaking glass.
They turned and Charlie was standing there with a broken wine glass at her feet, staring between them with wide eyes.
“I think that’s my excuse to leave,” Castiel laughed, withdrawing from Dean’s embrace and stepping back. As he turned to leave, he heard Charlie shriek.
“What do you mean, Castiel Novak is your husband?”
He threw back his head in laughter as the door closed behind him.
“Dining at Petit Impala was an experience I will never forget. The rustic, warm décor was as inviting and welcoming as its servers. From the second I entered, I was made to feel welcomed, like no request was too big or too small. The food itself was nothing short of divine. Balanced flavours, beautiful colours left Head Chef Dean Winchester’s plates to be nothing short of a delight, both aesthetically and culinarily. The food I ordered left me with the indulgent feeling of dining out, while providing me with the comfort of a homecooked meal.
I cannot, in all good conscience, claim this to be an unbiased report, as a marriage of six years to the Head Chef in question puts me in an ethically difficult position when it comes to Petit Impala. The best thing I can say is to try it for yourself, if you question my judgement. If my bias concerns you, however, let it be known that I choose to eat the food my husband prepares every day at home. I can offer no bigger compliment than that.”
Castiel nuzzled into Dean’s neck and pressed a few sucking kisses there, trying to thoroughly distract him from the review in the morning paper.
“Cas, come on, cut it out, I’m trying to read,” Dean laughed, but he tilted his head to the side to give Castiel more access, in direct contrast to his words.
“Read it later,” Castiel mumbled, sliding a hand under the covers and thoroughly capturing Dean’s attention. “Sex now.”
The paper slipped from Dean’s hands, fluttering to the floor as Dean climbed on top of Castiel, kissing him thoroughly.
“Maybe it’s my turn to be doing the tasting,” he teased, bursting into laughter as Castiel shoved at him, throwing an arm over his eyes.
“That was terrible," he groaned. "Never say anything like that again.”
Dean laughed again, leaning in and nipping at Castiel’s lip. “You love me.”
Castiel gazed up at him and unable to help himself, smiled widely. “Yeah, I do.”