There is a Sichuan restaurant downstairs from our company.

The owner’s wife takes the cash register, the owner cooks.
It has been open for ten years.
Last year, the shop closed. Then reopened.
Called a French fusion restaurant. Still the same couple.
The owner still cooks.
The owner’s wife no longer stands at the cash register.
She changed into a black dress, standing at the door.
No longer called the owner’s wife.
Called the manager.
I went in.
The menu was changed to a leather cover.
Spicy stir-fried pork was still there, ninety-eight yuan.
I said, isn’t this just Sichuan cuisine?
The waiter said, we are French fusion.
I asked, what did you fuse?
He said, we fused Sichuan cuisine.
I ordered spicy stir-fried pork.
When it was served, the plate was bigger than before, less meat than before.
On top, there was a sprig of rosemary.
I ate it.
The taste was the same.
When paying the bill, the owner’s wife stood at the door.
I said, owner’s wife, what did you fuse in this fusion?
She looked around and lowered her voice, saying:
We fused the price.
She handed me a receipt.
It said: French fusion dining experience, 380 yuan.
I asked her, wasn’t there no receipt before?
She said, now everyone wants a receipt.
Those who don’t want a receipt are not allowed in.
I left.
Looked back once.
The owner was stirring in the kitchen.
The owner’s wife was standing at the door.
Her hair was curled with a perm.
The rosemary had been left out all night and withered.