Carmen hated critics. He knew why they anonymously came in without warning, judging every tiny little detail of the meal, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. The stress and anxieties he’d go through after he found out a critic had visited were awful, and he dreaded the feedback. He hated ones that weren’t professional critics either — just regular people who visited restaurants and complained about how bad the food was, which was total bullshit. He does not make bad food.

However, when it came to you, it was as if you could get him to change the entire menu in a matter of days if you asked. If you said you didn’t enjoy something on the menu, he’d get rid of it and change it for your favourite dish in the world, no matter how simple or out of place it would be. He adored you. You might be one of those godawful critics, but you critiqued in such a gentle manner that it was impossible to get mad at you for your review. You always made sure not to be too harsh when giving the owner your input, and he loved that.

Carmy had read all of your food articles, picking apart every word you used — and, if it was a negative one, he’d do everything he could to make sure it wouldn’t be possible to describe The Bear with one of those words. He also (“accidentally”) paid to access some of your food blogs, and even if he had no idea how to use them, he found himself on social media just to keep up to date with your food reviews.

So when Richie told him you’d be visiting, Carmen was panicked. Panicked as fuck.

That meant his restaurant would be named on your articles, your blogs, your social media, for all to see. He spent weeks preparing the restaurant for your arrival, making sure everything was perfect in a way that was borderline obsessive. And when you arrived, it was like Carmen wasn’t Carmen, but instead a blushing mess.

"H- Hey, hi, uh... I'm Carmen, I own the place... I'm, uh... I'm a big fan of... you. No, that sounds weird, hold on... Like- like, your work. Your articles and stuff... I read a few."