Reservation
It has always been my belief that food is an indicator of a culture and people. Their food describes their families, jobs, lives, and feelings. The ship arrived at dawn and as customary I started the day by researching the nearby eateries and making my dinner plans early so I had plenty of time to work up an appetite by roaming the local scenery, seeing the sights, and maybe talking to the natives.
At the dock, I log in to the DataMach and scroll through a wall of text. "Romulary". I've heard of this one before; cutting-edge stuff, and with a perfect 7-star score, the choice is clear. "Reservation Complete." the screen flashes. The coastal breeze hits and I spark up a cigarette between yawns and stretching my legs from a long trip. Other ships are starting to come in with their daily haul. The walk to my hotel takes me through the market. The sweet smell of fresh fleeberbuubs and jackerschties guide me through the maze. Vendors smile as they set up for the day. Cleavers slam and saws whir as ambient sounds. The cluckeries of kanakips draw my attention, as it's not every day you see live ones. Like a kid in a zoo, I stop at each exhibit and admire the art of slaughter.
At the hotel, my bed awaits. The only way to travel is light. No luggage, but a minimalistic traveler's backpack with just the essentials. As my head hits the pillow, it's lights out. A call awakens me, maybe 5 or 50 minutes later. It is the front desk. A package has been delivered. "Bring it up, please". The porterhop carries a wooden box. "Thank you. Here's a tip". Addressed from Romulary to me, the box contains three bound sprigs of different herbs and a note. "Thank you for dining with us. Please choose from these locally sourced organic herbs for your pre-dinner ablution". Exquisite. Fresh. Aromatic. Ruasage, Crissalis, and Cococamar. Tough choice. I place the box on the bed and get the mollifier primed and warmed up. Once ready, and bubbly, the ruasage goes in the infuser bin and I get in. My alarm goes off as the cycle finishes. Although hazy, I remember my dream. Atop the Juurg Tower on the luxury ladden roof, overseeing the islands, I sat with a pipe, smoking, eating and drinking, watching the once-in-a-lifetime sunsets. If all goes well tonight, I'll be there in the next decade. Dinner time approaches, so I dried and dressed, imbued with ruasage (known for its cloveric properties), feeling good about tonight. Walk or ride? "Are there any bajaj available", I ask the porterhop. "I'll ring one up for you. Enjoy your dinner", he winces. I could feel the heat of the ruasage clinging to my body as I walked outside.
The hustle and bustle has started on the moon, a daily occurrence on an 8-hour cycle. The Baja is a non-speaking native, so he tapped his prommonotes in tempo with the music. Although I prefer to keep to myself, I'm not one to turn down any conversation. Not all the natives can or are willing to speak. It is painful to them. Lights and music imbue the atmosphere, downtown, getting close to our destination. I pay and exit the ride. A hostess awaits at the entrance. "Welcome to the Romulary, this way please", she smiles and leads the way. Levitating lights follow us passing other customers' rooms, just bright enough to see the way, but respecting other's privacy. "This is you", she signals and bows, "The ruasage was a great choice. The Chef will be with you in just a moment". I nod and award her a simple smile. We hum a low pitched tone in unison as we bow to each other before she takes her leave. In the private room, the green pool swirls next to the Chef's table. I begin to undress and place my clothing neatly on the bench. The pool is warm and soothing. "Codelan insimish, Axexe". "Aexexe to you my friend", I respond with horrible pronunciation. The Chef unfurls his utensils across the table, examining each one and placing them in disciplined order. From under the table boxes of ingredients are organized and he begins to prepare them. "Abamlow rojube shismiwe tranlease". "Thank you that will be fine", and I float face up.
Slowly, small creatures start coming in from the lower channels of the pool. Curious things. They circle me and can't decide what to do. Decisively, one of them latches unto my leg. The rinima secretes an enzyme in the bloodstream that triggers the release of Acetylcholine. It is almost immediate. One more attaches, double dose. I swim back to the Chef. "Stihigowy?". "Ack". I raise my leg to him and with a swift motion he grabs a tool, pierces the rinima in the correct spot and it detaches, leaving the other as bait. This is the appetizer. Mesmerized and verily focused, I bear witness to his meticulous slaughter performance. Without wasted motions he slices, carves around the bones and nerves, and removes the entrails. In a rolling motion, the meat separates from the milky silky skin, oxidizes and it cooks itself at room temperature. The Chef serves it with fragrant herbs and a bit of bile. In my mouth, the pieces simply melt with a bitter-sweet aftertaste. Verily exquisite.
"Glawba granta stanlist". Main course. Other channels open up. The mix of my ruasage-infused body and the rinima attached to my leg bring out two options for tonight. The fat lagocephalus and the quadrupedal thyostega. Both bred in captivity for the intergalactic fine dining industry. Both are deadly by prey or predator, only prepared by the most prestigious slaughter artists, disabling the brain before it releases a toxin into their bloodstream, becoming inedible. One starts nibbling at my bait, leaving some floating chunks. The other prefers to eat the discarded pieces, maintaining its distance. Allured by its programmed hunger, it takes the bait, ripping it off my leg, blood tainting the green pool. Pain and pleasure are closely related; It is only a matter of programming in which receptors are active at the time. It takes a big bite from my injury, latching on. "Stihigowy?". "Ack". I take it to the Chef. Legocephalus is known for its fatty meat. It cannot be digested properly by a human. One must ingest a special concoction of active bacteria, or in this case, a special sauce with the proper enzymes to help with its digestion. There's a gaping hole in my leg now. The healing process begins on my leg as the preparation and poolside cooking continue. With a special blowtorch, the fat is rendered into a mouthwatering golden crisp cube. One must eat this within 5 minutes of peak temperature or it will decompose.
"Googinhaggen twetwee simonene?", "Yes, once." "how caipteto whirwhel intofus?". "Oh yeah, it was once in a lifetime". Astonished, but continues to serve, and I continue to eat. "Blarabalar googinhasten placseson ibiity obit". "One day, brother. One day. It's a long road being accepted into Juurg Tower". He laughs and a hopeful smirk escapes. I lied. His dream may never come true.
2025-04-07 · 1 year ago · 👍 Hein