The steak smelled delicious. Picking up the fork and knife, the diner sliced a piece of meat and shoved the beef into his mouth. He never tasted anything more savory. There were the usual saltiness and acid from some sort of briny wash but then underlying, or perhaps overlying, was a flavor entirely different and novel. What was that taste? He thought.

In the back of the house, the cook stood at his grill and stared lost into the flames like a boy at a campfire. The heat rose to the stainless-steel fume hood, through a bank of filters, and out into the streets. Neighborhood dogs perked up and began to salivate.

Above the grill, the ANSUL fire suppression system snaked its way around under the cowling and waited in quiet anticipation of a grease fire. All along the system’s half-inch tubing, the plumbing collected oils and dust motes which aggregated in cave-like accretions. These stalactites swung back and forth with the pull of the vent’s massive squirrel cage fan until the weight of the deposits became too much to bear.

With his tongs, the cook flipped a steak above the orange flames, and on the top of the beautiful grill marks landed a black and fatty drip from the hood above. The cook plated the New York Strip, added a dollop of mashed potatoes, and finished the meal with eight stalks of asparagus. He rang the service bell.