“A clitoris?” Umberto raises his eyebrows and twists his mouth. He nods his head vigorously. “Very good. And what would you suggest we add to the dish to represent it?” “A pomegranate?” Chef Alban Toussaint asks, thumbing the bottle of Lexapro in his pocket. The other rising stars all pull faces suited to sewage smells. Chef Alban Toussaint had not expected his lack of experience with the female anatomy to hinder the culinary career that is the reason for his lack of experience with the female anatomy.
