Even if it felt unusual, Billy sang as he had never sung at any other concert; his music carried with a drive so rare and unrestrained. The Latin American tour was far more enchanting than it first appeared. Now he was in Peru, though the country bore its marks—poverty in 2005 was evident, much as it was in Brazil, Chile, and Colombia. Some areas were dangerous, while others were less so; yet, the boy was happy. He found the welcome far more intriguing than expected for a place often considered hazardous. His days there were fortresses of pleasure, with good food following him everywhere. After all, a talented chef—especially in a region as rich as Latin America—could turn every meal into something worth savoring, something that demanded he take his time and his place.
Maido was a restaurant built on the fusion of Japanese and Peruvian cuisine, a place crafted like a festival. When the owner heard Billy was in town, he went to great lengths to invite him for a free dinner, even closing off a section for the event. It felt bold, risky, even a little contemporary, especially in an era before influencers existed in these spaces. The truth was simple: Billy's blog was a phenomenon. With a monthly traffic of a million visitors, people followed his adventures, his tours, photos from his daily life, and even the beautiful women who appeared in them. It was a paradise built on the model of a page centered entirely on one person, connected to online shopping. Though Billy himself knew little about the logistics, many came simply to watch.
-How gratifying. Today we're at one of the restaurants where I've been invited, and I can say with certainty that we're bound to come across dishes truly worth visiting and savoring. – Billy said to the camera waiting beside him, as close and sharp as the opportunities lining up before him.
Together with Conor and Spencer, four starters arrived—enough for them to sample two each—followed by three more. A pork chicharrón sandwich made with Japanese ingredients and extra vegetables, two kinds of ceviche—one with spicy red sauce and another sweet-and-sour—served in small cups, enough to satisfy.
-The flavors just melt in your mouth. I mean, the chicharrón isn't what you'd expect, but that sweet-and-sour ceviche—damn, I want a second helping. Maybe three more servings if I can get them. – Billy commented, utterly convinced by the interplay of flavors, the umami exploding on his tongue in ways words couldn't capture.
-I'd invite anyone back here if I could. – Billy added. – They made us some special dishes, but nothing overwhelming, just smaller plates so we could try the whole menu. It's tough, but definitely a pleasure—like a small tour, where we pick based on the quality of reviews. For us, it's hard to know if they're truly the best, so we rely on the press and then test it ourselves through taste. – Billy's smile was magnetic, enchanting anyone who drew near, a sure thing from start to finish. The camera shifted between Billy and the food, capturing delicate shots, not shying away from faces that told their own stories. Later, editing would shape it into something complete.
-It's delicious. – Spencer said to the camera, though quickly glancing away, uncomfortable with the lens fixed so directly on him. Still, the moment the flavors hit his tongue, he couldn't resist. He savored each bite patiently, every dish landing exactly where it should.
The camera panned to Conor, who raised a thumb in approval.
-Lots of food. –
-Come on, have a little more. The potatoes are killer—try them with the sauce, it makes my mouth melt with flavor. – Billy replied, grabbing roasted potatoes stuffed with cheese. They dissolved in his mouth, paired with a tomato-and-onion sauce that coated his hands and burst with deliciousness, giving the dish a second life of flavor.
-I'm stuffed. – Conor sighed, overwhelmed, lost in the tastes. His appetite shut down, and even the sauce couldn't tempt him further.
The camera powered off.
-That's all, Billy. We'll have it up in three days. If you put in the work, we can make it just the way we want. – said Octavio Brow, who had been working with Billy as his cameraman for a year now, alongside his younger sister, who handled film production. Billy's connections had put a massive editing team at her disposal for small videos, practically handed to her on a silver platter. A pity she drew little notice herself, hidden under greasy hair and a heavy wool sweater that concealed her beauty. Still, her careful eye and determination made it clear—she wanted to rise as a future director, and learning under anyone's guidance was already a solid start.
-I'm afraid we don't have a compilation—we need a database. – Nicola remarked, holding a massive data archive she'd now have to handle.
-Then buy it. It can't be worth much. – Billy replied.
In truth, it was valued at $75, but after surpassing the 100-gigabyte risk, its price had risen to $165—almost a hundred more. Yet it was magnificent how Billy's page produced so many good things. Nothing could be considered wasted effort.
-I already subscribed to the plan. – Nicola said, turning her back while she ate, now that the site was offline. It was almost certain it would grow into a registered brand of its own.
-Thanks, Nicola, eat as much as you like. – Billy answered, with a simple dish and another sweet plate on the side. She ate every flavor with pleasure, just as Billy described them. It was so good, so delicious, that she savored every bite, cursing under her breath. Billy seemed to express his feelings well, each flavor stirring her stomach, every taste lingering.
-Nicole liked it. – Octavio noted.
-Tomorrow, we'll have the conocer, then we'll hit another restaurant. – Billy said, fully aware of the opportunities. Feeling so well taken care of was marvelous, each step across the floor a delight, filled with warmth and self-assurance. Even when people circled back on themselves endlessly, this was the kind of trick that worked for anyone willing to try.
I'd like to say easily that flavors carry their own colors. They seemed to draw nearer, urging him toward a promotion of T-shirts—each one marked with a country, each flavor an opportunity to do whatever he pleased, however he wanted. The restless mind that always drove him forward was shaping another success.
-Do you think shirts from my time in Peru could be a good idea? – Billy asked, uncertain what to make of it.
-What are you talking about? – Conor asked.
-You know, a clothing line in the colors of Peru. It's beautiful. – Billy replied, still a little detached from life's indulgences. – What could be cooler than launching a clothing campaign tied to all these people who live in constant inequality, unable to show the world the beauty they already have? –
-You're high. – Conor said.
-Come on, man, what do you think of a clothing line that follows those colors? I want something raw and free-spirited, something that does what I've always wanted. People in many of these cities crave recognition, and I'm just doing what I want. –
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