We can talk about madness by paraphrasing the well-known statement that this is a personal dish that is served both cold and hot. It can be refined and subtle, like mountain rose petals in orange sauce, or bitter and pungent, like fish bones in baked wormwood. In the hellish restaurant they serve it in parts, gradually increasing the portion. And who serves? Discerning minds assume that there is Someone... And the most advanced ones claim that there is no one: we are our own cooks and waiters. Complete ambiguities. But one thing is clear: the more talented the cook, the more spectacular the dish. Is it possible to refuse it and escape from the hellish restaurant? Rumor has it that this happens, but the bill is still issued, and they demand payment. In the collection “When served, eat it completely!” three stories are presented about writers who, willy-nilly, ended up in such a “restaurant.”