A Nightmare: The Veg-Washer, the Veg-Grower, and the Chef at a Restaurant

Yesterday I had a dream, and after waking up I found it both exasperating and funny—an out-and-out nightmare. Let me just set it down exactly as it happened.

Switching to a Different Restaurant

In the dream, the restaurant I go to every day had gone under, so I switched to eating at a supposedly upscale place nearby.

The moment I walked in, I discovered that the person receiving me was the veg-washer. The veg-washer told me they had a chef who could turn out delicious dishes. Trusting in the restaurant’s professionalism, I first ordered a dish to give it a try.

The dish turned out to taste not so good, and my stomach didn’t feel great either. But out of politeness I didn’t complain to the veg-washer waiting on me right then; instead I walked into the kitchen to take a look for myself.

The Truth Revealed in the Kitchen

Once in the kitchen, I discovered that the so-called “chef” doing the cooking wasn’t actually a real chef, but the veg-grower.

And the ingredients on the counter that hadn’t yet gone into the pot actually looked to be of decent quality. So I told the veg-grower to tweak the cooking procedure a little, and the dish should come out more OK. The veg-grower, half believing and half doubting, followed my words and made another dish.

After I ate it, I found it just barely passable, but honestly, the quality of this dish still didn’t live up to the price marked on the menu.

A Tragicomic Exchange

After finishing the second dish, I told the veg-washer in charge of serving: in that case, from now on I’ll just buy the vegetables the veg-grower grows and be done with it.

To my surprise, the veg-washer wasn’t happy to hear this, and shot back: it’s precisely because I taught the veg-grower how to cook that the food came out not to my taste and upset my stomach. He suggested I trust the professionals—come eat the veg-grower’s cooking a few more times a day, and I should gradually get used to it.

Otherwise, he said, I could go to the restaurant opened by the veg-grower’s master—that’s where the veg-grower learned how to grow vegetables in the first place. It’s just a bit far, about a one-to-two-hour drive.

I said there was no way I could drive that far for every single meal. But the veg-grower replied: no help for it—if you want to eat good things, there’s always some sacrifice involved. I asked him how the chef at that restaurant cooked. He said he didn’t know—go there yourself and you’ll find out.

And Then I Woke Up

In the end I steeled myself: since they wouldn’t sell me the uncooked vegetables, and the cooked food was barely edible, I might as well just switch to a different restaurant altogether.

At that point, the veg-washer in charge of serving piped up again, saying: actually, five minutes’ drive away there’s yet another restaurant, opened by a friend of the veg-grower’s master; you could give it a try—they work with farmers…

And then, I woke up.

What a nightmare.