SCP-8595

Link to article: SCP-8595.

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=====
[[include :scp-wiki:component:preview
text=PlaguePJP: XXXVIII
]]
=====

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[[>]]
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[[size 80%]]##757575|by PlaguePJP##[[/size]]
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[[include component:info-ayers
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|page=scp-8595[!-- url of your page on the scp wiki --]
|authorPage=http://www.scp-wiki.net/plaguepjp[!-- link to your author page --]
|comments=  
= **SCP-8595** — //Everyone's a Critic//
]]

[[div]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:anomaly-class-bar-source
|item-number=8595
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-----

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image cock.png style="width:100%;" link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption" style="width:100%;"]]
SCP-8595 consuming an apple.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

-----

**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-8595 is contained in a standard insect enclosure in Site-322's wildlife department. As SCP-8595 does not biologically differ from non-anomalous members of its species, standard temperature regulation and habitat construction have been implemented.

SCP-8595 follows a strict diet and will refuse certain foods, see addendum for further information.

**Description:** SCP-8595 is an American cockroach (//Periplaneta americana//) which believes itself to be a restaurant critic.

SCP-8595 is sapient and sentient but is not capable of speech. When presented with any consumable item and any method of writing, SCP-8595 will eat the item and write a review of it, the interior of the location where the item was eaten, the service, and the concept of the "restaurant," combining these elements into a rating out of five stars.

It is assumed SCP-8595 either believes itself to be human or that cockroaches should be allowed to eat at restaurants, as seen by multiple complaints on its Yelp about it being run out of restaurants, long waits for seating, being ignored, having items thrown at it, or being sprayed with chemicals. The former is the likely scenario, as references to SCP-8595's insectoid form and the issues of being an insect and attempting to eat a human-sized meal are outright ignored or glossed over in its reviews.

**Addendum 8595.1:** Feeding Attempts

It was quickly discovered that SCP-8595 would not consume the feed it was given in its enclosure, dubbing it "gutter swill" in a review. While non-anomalous cockroaches can live approximately 30 days without food, it was unknown if this still applied to SCP-8595, given its anomalous state. The loss of SCP-8595 in this way would be considered a breach of Foundation protocol.

As a result, Site-322 organized the creation of Café 322, a restaurant made solely to convince SCP-8595 to eat.

[[div class="addendum"]]
**Item:(s)** A fresh Granny Smith Apple

**Result:** After being presented with the apple, SCP-8595 crawled along its surface for 15 seconds before beginning to eat. It then wrote the following review on a nearby laptop.

[[div class="reviewtop"]]

= [[span class="title"]]**Café 322; A Mess**[[/span]]

[[/div]]
[[div class="review"]]
Would you be impressed by a soccer player bragging about their kicking ability? No, I wouldn't think so. Being able to kick a ball is below the bar I expect from a professional athlete. A restaurant announcing its use of fresh ingredients conjures similar feelings in me. At Café 322, that thought of "okay, what else?" remains lingering throughout the dining experience.

Café 322's idea of fine dining follows along the lines of a less-is-more concept. Constraint is the boon of creativity, and I can appreciate when an artist can operate within cramped walls and create something beautiful despite it. Café 322's understanding of the less-is-more concept led them to drab, blank walls, a cold, artless metal table, uniforms that invoke the feeling of being at your 9-to-5, and blinding hospital lights.

I was lucky enough to be offered the chef's tasting menu. Imagine my rage and dismay when I was presented with a single green apple on a white plastic plate. Between the time it took for the server to walk this "course" from the kitchen to my table, the apple fell to its side and was disgustingly placed back upright by said server.

I'm left at a crossroads; I can continue with this review, relaying the taste of an apple all of you have eaten in one form or another during your lives, or I can do what Café 322 did and stop trying before I even get started. After this sentence, it should be clear which road I went down.
= [[size 140%]]##ffbb00|★☆☆☆☆##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

Despite being told Café 322 listened to its critique, SCP-8595 refused to consume any meal produced by the restaurant "out of principle" and reassumed its hunger strike. Foundation researchers transformed an unoccupied dorm in one of Site-322's sub-levels into a concept restaurant inspired by minimalism entitled 'MAL.'

[[div class="addendum"]]
**Item:(s)** "Crisp tortilla with powdered oaxaca cheese and spices,"[[footnote]]Nacho Cheese-flavored Doritos arranged in a circular pattern.[[/footnote]] "Deconstructed BLT,"[[footnote]]A leaf of lettuce, a slice of bacon, a slice of tomato, and four Ritz crackers served in separate bowls.[[/footnote]] "Dessert Eggs"[[footnote]]Various Jelly-Belly branded jelly beans placed on the rim of a plate. [[/footnote]]

**Result:** SCP-8595 was given each item one at a time and consumed parts of each while taking notes in between courses.


[[div class="reviewtop"]]

= [[span class="title"]]**MAL; ICIOUS**[[/span]]

[[/div]]
[[div class="review"]]
What I've always enjoyed about the artform — yes, artform — of culinary expression is how a head chef, owner, //et cetera// can imbue themselves into a product and give their patrons a sense of who they are. MAL does no such things, taking minimalism to its extreme to the point I'm unsure of what the artists behind this work are trying to make me feel. Black, windowless walls, cold, ice-white marble tables, uncomfortable metal seating, and deliberately boring plating left me feeling I entered more the uncanny valley than I did a high-end restaurant.

MAL offers a seasonal chef's menu, which I attempted to indulge in. The first course, a twist on nachos, as it was described to me, was tortilla triangles, fried and seasoned with a spice mix. The chips were cold, as if they never touched oil, but punched me with a lot of flavor. This was my favorite dish, specifically for the odd blue seasoning[[footnote]] Mold. [[/footnote]] a few chips had sprinkled on them. These were few and far between, but the flavor of this blue seasoning was absolutely delicious — I would eat a bowl of this alone.

The deconstructed bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich bored me. I'm at a loss because I'm sure everyone here has had a BLT in their lives, and it's arguably a perfect sandwich. MAL, in its desire to conquer God, reinvented this perfect sandwich and made it a hassle to eat properly. These two dishes display my most glaring qualm: I do not mind eating with my hands. However, there should be a reason. I could have very easily been presented with a BLT, but no, that wasn't //different// enough.

The "Dessert Eggs" were an interesting idea but were executed poorly. I've never been a fan of molecular gastronomy; I was once presented with small, caviar-sized orbs of a red liquid in a bowl and was told it was tomato soup. These dessert eggs were flavorless, tasting more of sweetness than anything else. When I asked my waiter what the flavors were (the eggs were in all different colors and had no discernable theme or pattern), she picked one up, smushed it between her fingers, smelled it, told me "buttered popcorn," and then ate it herself.[[footnote]] This is an exaggeration. As the plate was being delivered, one of the jellybeans rolled off and was caught by Researcher Julianne Hoover, who ate it. [[/footnote]]

That level of care told me all I needed to know of MAL. Good ideas and some good flavors, but bad execution.

= [[size 140%]]##ffbb00|★★☆☆☆##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

SCP-8595 again entered a hunger strike, refusing to try the "new chef's menu" at MAL, retry Café 322, or eat its Foundation-supplied sustenance. This continued for three days. After discussing with Overwatch Command, researchers were given //carte blanche// on SCP-8595's containment. Under a Foundation front company, Site-322 recruited a Michelin-starred chef to create and prep a three-course meal. A subbasement floor was torn down and reconstructed into "Red Bell" with oversight from three Foundation interior designers. The space was crafted to resemble a high-end American steak house, with custom-made wooden paneling on the walls, a full bar, hand-built tables, and imported cutlery. Researchers Julliane and Julian Hoover were trained to be servers and were given formal uniforms.

[[div class="addendum"]]
**Item:(s)** Beef tartare served with bell pepper slaw, jalapeno spears, raw egg yolk, capers, beef bone marrow, and crostini. A Wagyu tasting, consisting of three thin and seared pieces of Japanese A5 wagyu, Australian Wagyu, and Kobe beef with a wasabi crema. Prime rib topped with lobster meat accompanied by Yukon gold mash, beef and lobster au jus, and truffle mac and cheese.

**Result:** SCP-8595 was given each course and a wine pairing. In between each course, SCP-8595 took notes on a provided laptop. While attempting to drink the wine paired with its first course, SCP-8595 fell into the cup and had to be fished out by wait staff.

[[div class="reviewtop"]]

= [[span class="title"]]**Red Bell; Red Flag**[[/span]]

[[/div]]
[[div class="review"]]
If you've been a reader of mine for any length of time, you'll know minimalism or the less-is-more concert has never been my favorite school of thought. I can most definitely commend when a chef works within self-imposed constraints to give their guests the best time, and I have enjoyed minimalist restaurants. Red Bell is a maximalist restaurant.

Everything in Red Bell — from the waitstaff to the tables, from the bar to the plates my meals were served on — kicked and screamed of the need to be taken seriously. It was almost //too// perfect that I began questioning if I was, in fact, in a real restaurant. Describe a high-end steak house to your friend who's never heard of restaurants before, and then have that friend tell an alien that same information. What the alien creates will not be too dissimilar to what Red Bell I was presented with.

The Beef tartare was chewy, and with every chew, I was reminded that I was eating a dead animal. The bell pepper slaw was a tasty addition, but I expected to see more bell pepper from a restaurant named Red Bell. This is the only time you'll see any bell pepper on any dish.

The Wagyu tasting was, of course, good. It's Wagyu; it's the best steak you can get in the world. The insultingly small rectangles of meat I was given were cooked to a nearly perfect medium rare. I will not give a steak restaurant their commendation for serving me the best meat in the world and respect myself as a critic afterward. I can buy Wagyu from a butcher and cook it just as well, and it would taste just as good. If this restaurant sold only their sauces, they'd receive five stars from me. The wasabi crema was a treat that cut through the fattiness of the wagyu, though slightly muted in flavor.

The monstrous prime rib meal displays every single issue I have with Red Bell and is the antithesis of fine dining condensed down into a singular course. This entire meal was as if they went to the streets of the Las Vegas strip and asked the drunken men and their plastic surgery-riddled wives what they just spent five thousand dollars on in some gaudy, overpriced embarrassment of a restaurant. Who, in their right mind, puts lobster meat on a prime rib? Who, in their right mind, serves rich, buttery mashed potatoes with rich, buttery //truffle// mac and cheese? Everything on that plate, by itself, was good — maybe even great (The au jus, of course, was the star). I can not, in good conscience and as someone who respects the culinary arts, recommend anyone partake in this sham of a restaurant.

= [[size 140%]]##ffbb00|☆☆☆☆☆##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

SCP-8595 resumed its hunger strike, refusing to eat at any of the above restaurants despite protestations and attempts to reason with it from researchers. Another meeting with Overwatch Command was held, and new restaurant ideas were floated, but it was assumed that the Foundation's efforts would be in vain. After the data from all SCP-8595's reviews were compiled, a pattern was established, and a new and likely final restaurant was organized, "Carpaje."

[[div class="addendum"]]
**Item:(s)** Site-322's dumpster was moved indoors and placed in an empty supply closet.

**Result:** SCP-8595 was laid inside, reemerging after two hours and nineteen minutes.

[[div class="reviewtop"]]

= [[span class="title"]]**CARPAJE**[[/span]]

[[/div]]
[[div class="review"]]
Scrumptious.

= [[size 140%]]##ffbb00|★★★★★##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]


[[footnoteblock]]
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[[=]]
<< [[[SCP-8594]]] | SCP-8595 | [[[SCP-8596]]] >>
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
----
[[include component:wikimodule |ratings= --]]]
[[=]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]
> **Filename:** cock.png
> **Name:** Cockroach on an apple
> **Author:** Neil Turner
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/neilt/8011331 Flickr]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]
[[/=]]

SCP-8595

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