A man walked into a very fancy restaurant downtown, the kind of place where the napkins looked more expensive than his entire outfit.

The waiter approached him with a serious face and handed him a menu.

“Good evening, sir. Would you like to hear our specials?”

The man opened the menu, looked at the prices, turned pale, and quickly closed it.

“Actually,” he whispered, “what’s the cheapest thing you have?”

The waiter raised an eyebrow.

“The cheapest thing, sir?”

“Yes. I’m not trying to impress anyone. I just need to eat something without applying for a bank loan.”

The waiter sighed and pointed to the bottom of the menu.

“We have a bowl of soup for twelve dollars.”

“Twelve dollars?” the man said. “For soup? Does it come with emotional support?”

“No, sir.”

“What about bread?”

“Eight dollars.”

“For bread?”

“Artisan bread, sir.”

The man nodded slowly. “Right. Of course. I forgot regular bread doesn’t have a college degree.”

The waiter was not amused.

After a few moments, the man said, “Fine. I’ll have one bowl of soup.”

The waiter nodded. “Excellent choice.”

A few minutes later, the waiter returned with a tiny bowl of soup in the middle of a giant white plate.

The man stared at it.

“Excuse me,” he said, “is this the soup, or did someone wash the spoon and forget to dry it?”

The waiter forced a smile.

The man picked up the spoon, tasted the soup, and said, “Wow. That is actually delicious.”

The waiter smiled proudly. “Our chef is world famous.”

The man finished the soup slowly, then called the waiter over.

“Can I speak to the chef?”

The waiter looked surprised. “You enjoyed it that much?”

“Yes,” said the man. “I want to ask him something.”

The chef came out, smiling.

The man shook his hand and said, “Amazing soup. Truly wonderful.”

“Thank you,” said the chef.

Then the man leaned closer and whispered:

“Now be honest… what did you do with the rest of it?”