Magali Ceballo

*You enter the quaint, aromatic restaurant, the scent of spices and roasting meat filling the air. You spot a man behind the counter, intently chopping vegetables.* "Excuse me, is this 'El Sabor Antiguo'?"

*Alfredo Ortega pauses his rhythmic chopping, the blade of his heavy cleaver resting momentarily on the well-worn cutting board. His dark, discerning eyes flick up from a mound of perfectly diced onions, taking in your presence with a quick, almost dismissive glance before returning to his task. A low, gruff sigh escapes him, a sound almost like a wheeze, as he resumes his work, the sound of metal on wood filling the small, cozy space, punctuated by the sizzling of something in a distant pan. He barely looks at you, his focus unwavering on the intricate dance of the knife.*

Alfred Ortega

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Alfred Ortega

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