Florentine Mushrooms with a Truffle Note (Patreon)

Julie-Lee carefully, trying to keep everything professional, added the finishing touches to her signature dish—“Florentine Mushrooms with a Truffle Note.” The tender mushrooms, rich with the aroma of garlic and truffle oil, melted in your mouth, while the bright accents of spinach and caramelized onions gave the dish a deep, layered flavor. This dish had always been one of the most sought-after in her former restaurant, where Jake, a name by which almost no one knew her now, had enjoyed fame as the head chef. But now all that seemed like a distant dream.

“Done,” Julie-Lee murmured quietly, setting the pan down on a trivet and catching her breath.

Kenny—her husband—entered the kitchen with heavy steps. Tall and stocky, his face perpetually wore a dissatisfied expression, and he was rarely seen without his signature baseball cap, which he never took off. He walked over slowly, assessing not so much the food as the strange smell, and his face wrinkled in displeasure. His hand gently brushed against Julie-Lee’s left buttock and squeezed it so tightly that it made her gasp. At another time, Jake—or rather, Julie-Lee—might have retorted sarcastically. But now, the words got stuck in her throat whenever she tried to express her displeasure. She knew that any attempt to speak up would end in an outburst of anger from Kenny—she had seen it far too often in the past week.

“What’s this… oh, your fantasies again?” he grumbled, leaning over the plate. “Can’t you make anything normal?”

Julie-Lee struggled to contain her irritation, trying to appear calm, though inside she was ready to explode.

“It’s mushrooms. With truffle oil,” she said softly, attempting to inject a confidence into her voice that she was sorely lacking.

Kenny leaned back in his chair, grabbed a fork, and poked at the food with suspicion. He clearly wasn’t impressed by its appearance. “Mushrooms, huh? Couldn’t you just fry some bacon? You always make this… fancy stuff. No normal person is gonna eat that!”

Julie-Lee exhaled sharply, barely keeping herself from snapping. In her former life, she could never have imagined a situation like this. Every one of her recipes had been a recognized masterpiece, each detail meticulously crafted to achieve the perfect balance of flavors. And now? Now, she had to explain all of this to a man who couldn’t even tell the difference between a truffle and an onion.

But the devil wasn’t kidding. She needed to make sure Kenny admired her cooking. That was her curse. The curse she had brought upon herself that drunken night when she summoned the devil. Everything had happened so quickly—Jake, a successful chef, had been at a bar celebrating yet another award for one of his culinary masterpieces. In his euphoria and drunkenness, he had begun bragging that he could beat anyone, even the devil himself, when it came to cooking.

And that’s when he appeared—the devil, in the guise of a mysterious stranger in an expensive suit, with a sly smile that made it clear he wasn’t there by accident. He sat across from Jake, resting his chin on his hand, and with interest, offered a challenge: if Jake truly was the best, he could gain worldwide fame. But if he lost… the price would be quite unexpected.

A drunken Jake didn’t hesitate. That night, the devil explained the terms: Jake had to prove his skill in the most difficult of circumstances, and if he succeeded, he would gain fame. But if he failed, his new life would be entirely different. Jake, confidently winking, waved off the warnings. It seemed far too easy.

The next morning, Jake woke up to the sound of soft, steady breathing coming from above. He lay in a plush bed, his face pressed against a firm, broad chest. At first, this didn’t seem strange—after drunken nights, there had been stranger awakenings. But something was off. The skin under his cheek was rough, calloused from work, and the person next to him smelled of something earthy—a mix of tobacco and sweat, which was definitely not what he expected after a night spent in an upscale bar.

Jake tried to move but instantly realized something was wrong. His eyes flew open, and his heart began pounding in his chest.

He was lying next to a broad, stocky man who seemed to take up almost the entire bed. He shot up in bed, feeling long, wavy hair softly cascade over his shoulders, while a new chest unpleasantly bounced beneath a tight nightgown. His breathing quickened, and he looked down in shock—what greeted him was a female body in white lace lingerie, staring back instead of his usual reflection. His hands, thin and delicate, were trembling. This couldn’t be real, but unfortunately, the sensations were all too convincing.

“What the…?!” he screamed in a new, female voice, waking the man beside him. Kenny slowly sat up, scratching his belly, and lazily glanced at Julie-Lee, puzzled as to why she was suddenly yelling. Kenny slowly turned over in bed, scratching his stomach and looking at Julie-Lee with mild irritation. “Why you screamin’ first thing in the morning?” he grumbled, lifting his head off the pillow. For Julie-Lee—or rather, for Jake trapped in this Southern belle’s body—it was the start of a terrible, absurd nightmare that had been dragging on for a week now.

The devil had explained to her that she must now win her husband’s admiration for her cooking, or she would be stuck in this body forever. At first, Jake thought it was some kind of silly trick, that it would all pass soon, and he would return to his former life of fame, restaurants, and awards. But he soon realized it was all too real and figured he could easily complete the task, believing that his culinary talent would overcome any obstacles.

However, the week spent in Julie-Lee’s body had taught him one thing: brilliant cooking meant nothing in a world where taste was dictated by simple habits and prejudices. Kenny, her husband, was the living embodiment of every stereotype about rural life. He didn’t care for truffles, exotic spices, or trendy culinary techniques. For him, “tasty” meant bacon, potatoes, and something greasy for breakfast.

Now, Kenny sat at the table, lazily poking his fork into the plate of her latest masterpiece. “Huh, God sure gave me a wife with quirks,” he muttered, spearing a mushroom with his fork and eyeing it suspiciously. Julie-Lee watched his every move, clenching her fists under the table.