Cyborg Somms

A work of fiction set in a fine dining restaurant

By Luis Romero

“Freedom,” Marco reads the word, written in quotation marks, on his chit.

Two women are seated at one of the clamshell booths, lit from above and covered in shiny red velvet.

“Good evening, ladies,” Marco says, cocking his head and letting his hair fall across his cheekbone. “May I ask what you are celebrating tonight? I see a cake with the word freedom on it, correct?”

“Hello, Marco. Marie here. Barbra just got divorced. Forty years was enough torture. Right, Barb? I ordered the cake, because you start a marriage with cake, you should end it the same way.”

Marco tilts his head like a confused puppy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says out of gut instinct, looking at Barbra.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Marie says, trying to lighten the mood. “She is free!”

Marco’s eyes lock on Barbra as she lowers her eyebrows in acknowledgement.

“We want to order Champagne. What do you recommend?” Marie asks, interrupting the moment.

“It all depends on what you like,” Marco says, pulling out the charm of his half smile. “Hearing about what brings you here reminded me of Veuve Clicquot. The madame was widowed at twenty-seven, inheriting a failing Champagne house and turning it around. La Grande Dame is named after her.”

Marco points out the price for the women to read. Barbra’s eyes follow his finger to the digits.

“We’ll take it,” she says, raising her eyes to meet Marco, who stands upright while pulling his hair back with his hand.

A sincere smile escapes Marco; his olive eyes match the patina of the railing on the steps leading down from the booth as he crosses the restaurant, turning toward the cellar.

“Why do people say they want dry wines and then order Moscato?” Melanie asks, walking into the somm station, leaving behind a trail of lavender scent from the oil she uses on her hair.

“At least it’s better than Ms. Waters ordering red Chardonnay,” Anthony says with a smirk, his Roman nose shining in the restaurant’s candlelight.

“She definitely did that last summer. I mean, what’s the point in trying? We’ll all be replaced with AI soon anyway.”

“I’d love to see that. I read somewhere that some of the sensors are programmed with data going back to 1982. I wasn’t even born,” Anthony says, pouring the last ounce from a bottle of Pinot left by his last table.

“It’s a bunch of changes, not just sensors. But I want to see a robot trying to convince Ms. Waters that Chardonnay isn’t red,” Melanie says with a big smile.

“I wonder if she’d even notice what the bottle says, as long as it’s red. I love Ms. Waters but I doubt she’d read a label, let alone an article about cyborg somms.” Anthony says as he walks out of the room.

“La Grande Dame,” Marco says, presenting the nearly empty bottle while reaching for his hair.

“I’ll toast with you,” Melanie says. “We’re about to lose our jobs to an electronic nose and a cyborg somm.”

“We should all toast to the cyborg somms. Some people could use the help,” Marco says, pulling flutes from the shelf. “Two women celebrating a divorce ordered it. Asked me about Champagne and ended up with La Grande Dame. They’re sweet.”

“What’s going on over here?” Meghan, the wine director, asks, wearing her signature suit and ponytail, pointing at the empty bottle of Champagne on ice.

“It’s... education?” Marco says, trying to slip through the curtain.

“Not so fast,” Meghan says, standing by the curtain. “Why are two of my three sommeliers in the side station when the restaurant is full?”

“Melanie was telling us we’re about to lose our jobs to cyborg somms,” Marco says with a smile, while attempting his usual hair move.

“She may be right,” Meghan says, looking at Melanie. “But it won’t because of the cyborgs.”

Melanie gulps the last of her Champagne, trying to hit the exit too.

Meghan chuckles, cutting Melanie’s path short while looking at the label on the Champagne bottle. “Is this you, Marco?” she asks, lifting her gaze.

“Yes. I was talking to the two ladies in the clamshell booth, and it turns out they are celebrating a divorce after forty years. I mentioned the story of the Widow, and they wanted to order it.”

“Impressive,” Meghan says, giving Melanie a side look. “See, Melanie? There are worse predators than cyborg somms.”

Marco stops mid-gesture, hand halfway to his hair, indignant because it is half true.

“Alright, that’s enough. Both of you out, or you are truly about to lose your jobs,” Meghan says, pointing towards the curtain.

“Who knows? Maybe cyborgs can help Ms. Waters,” Melanie says, putting her hair in a bun, filling the space with aromas of lavender.

“Not the red Chardonnay again,” Meghan says, as she ushers them out.

“It really happened…why doesn’t anyone believe me?” Melanie asks as the cacophony of the restaurant drowns out her words.

Luis Romero, M.S., M.A., is a wine, beer, and spirits educator, certified sommelier, beverage specialist, and owner of the International Beverage Academy, an approved program provider offering WSET certifications in English and Spanish to professionals and enthusiasts alike. With more than a decade of university teaching and beverage education experience, Luis currently serves as a business lecturer at Highline College in the Seattle area while teaching WSET certification programs at partner schools across Oregon and Washington. He is completing his WSET Diploma as he continues to deepen his expertise in the field. His writing has appeared in Bon Appétit, Plate Magazine and other print and digital publications. His passion for life is only rivaled by his desire to learn and share new experiences with both readers and loved ones.