The waiter wore the kind of mad grin normally seen on movie villains as they unleash mayhem on an unsuspecting city. A silvery industrial canister dangled from his hand. It looked like something for transporting dangerous radioactive isotopes. More alarming, it was emitting thick clouds of cold white smoke through the lid.
"These are frozen elder flowers," he said, reaching into the canister with a small scoop and sprinkling tiny white nuggets into my dessert bowl. "They have been chilled in liquid nitrogen."
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