A blind man walks into a restaurant and sits down. The waiter, who is also the owner, walks up to the man and hands him a menu.

"I'm sorry, sir," the blind man says, "but I am blind and can't read the menu. Just bring me a used fork."

The waiter, a kind man named Leo, is a bit puzzled but obliges. He returns with a fork.

"Thank you," the blind man says, taking the fork and smelling it deeply. "Ah, yes. Last night's special was the lemon-herb roasted chicken. A fine choice."

Leo's eyes widen in amazement. "How did you do that?" he asks.

The blind man smiles. "I've lost my sight, but my other senses are sharper than ever. I can smell the ghost of a meal on a fork."

Intrigued, Leo returns to the kitchen and brings back a spoon. The blind man takes it, smells it, and his smile grows. "Ah, the creamy mushroom risotto," he declares. "You use wild mushrooms—chanterelles, I believe. Excellent."

Leo can't believe it. He decides to test the man. He brings out a small, old soup ladle. The blind man takes it, and his expression becomes thoughtful. He inhales deeply, a look of pure joy on his face.

"This," he says, his voice full of emotion, "this brings back memories. It smells of my grandmother's kitchen, of a simple, hearty vegetable soup."

He takes another sniff and laughs. "And something else... a secret ingredient. Just a whisper of it... nutmeg. That's it! She always added a pinch of nutmeg to her vegetable soup. Nobody else in the family knew."

A tear wells up in Leo's eye. "That's my grandmother's ladle," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "And you're right, she always put nutmeg in her soup."

The blind man looks toward the sound of Leo's voice, his face soft with understanding. "She was a great cook," he says.

Leo is so moved that he invites the man to eat for free that night. The blind man gratefully accepts, and Leo prepares a special feast just for him, inspired by the wonderful smells of the past.