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The restaurant was dimly lit by single candles on each table. The establishment was new and Hen Cackle had taken it upon herself to try their fare. She liked to go around to different diners, restaurants, and such in order to taste test new menu items. Even though she worked as part of the Birthday Crew during the day she liked to run a small food review blog. As a hobby.

So far very few places or chefs were up to snuff.

The soup she'd ordered as an appetizer was sub-par, their bread sticks tasted stale and had the consistency of dough, and she was starting to rethink her policy on not saying anything until after the meal. This was a disaster.

It was a wonder to her none of the other patrons were wailing in misery like she wanted to.

Hen Cackle's eyes went wide when she heard the fit, but unlike the rest of the customers (who were looking on with disdain or fright) a smile crept onto the mare's face. His threat of violence if the main dish was cold was wonderful enough, but when he so casually took a sip of his drink afterwards--

Hen Cackle quietly chuckled to herself. What a wonderful display. Just then her main dish was presented to her. Chicken cordon bleu; easy enough to cook, difficult to mess up, but with a delightful flavor combination that just sang when done right. She took knife and fork in hand. This was it ... the defining moment- And it was pink.

"It's raw. This chicken is raw enough to walk out the door and become a bad joke."

She said it sweetly. Dangerously so. Like poison candy.

"How could anyone be stupid enough to mess this up? Tell me. I honestly want to know."

She'd done it. She'd broken her own rule about not saying anything negative until posting her review, but seriously? Her face was plastered with a passive-aggressive smile-

"I wish to speak to your head chef. At once."

Hen Cackle smiled triumphantly as the waiter walked away. The further his shoulders slumped the higher she felt. Of course, there was the chance that other patrons wouldn't getting their meals ... but really she was doing them a favor in that case. She shoved a fork at her lump of filth the chef had called her meal and sneered.

The chef came out in a huff and stopped at her table. Glowering down at her and snarling he tried to cut quite a figure, but she was unimpressed and still looking down at her plate.

"I expect an apology for expecting me to eat something so clearly inedible. In fact," she said as she stood up, "I encourage everyone here to let this insult to the cooking profession know just how badly he's screwed up."

She straightened her back just a little bit more, and using her knife and fork cut into the raw meat to expose the pinkness within. With a gesture she indicated the chef should look at it.
"This chicken is so uncooked a skilled veterinarian could revive it."

This chef was a disappointment, but even worse were the phonies still eating. They were going to get food poisoning at best and salmonella at worst. She rolled her eyes, but looked around when another voice spoke up. There he was- A chef's hat atop his head, and a look of pure disgust. Not aimed at her, but aimed in the same direction as her ire. He tipped his hat when he was done saying his piece and she nodded back.

There was nothing more relieving than finding a kindred spirit.

"Oh, yes! Don't even get me started on my appetizer. Though it was hardly appetizing at all. Risotto stuffed mushrooms are supposed to be flavorful! Complex! Instead I got under cooked, under seasoned, rice in too salty frozen mushrooms. How are you even still in business? Tell me; just sate my curiosity here, but do you know what an egg is? At this point it wouldn't surprise me if you knew what even the most basic essentials were let alone how to cook them."

She shook her head then turned a friendly enough face to the pink pegasus. "Hen Cackle," she introduced herself, "it's a pleasure to meet someone that knows what food actually is. Would you like to get out of this dump and find somewhere with a real chef?"