A Halloween story: SHE LIVES!

Wrote this short story a while back but bring it to the top of the list every Halloween. Reading it always makes me smile but hopefully it will leave you with a few shivers. If there's any lesson to be learned from it, it's be careful how you treat your fellow man...or whoever...

 

SHE LIVES!

“Good enough to eat!” she snickered to herself, adjusting the pieces of raw fish on the platter filled to overflowing with a vast assortment of sushi. Opening her mouth slightly, a thick stream of saliva trickled down her chin landing squarely on top of the two centre pieces.

 “My compliments to the chef,” she said in a whisper, wiping her chin with a crisp white napkin and using a corner to remove the blob of white slime on the fish.

 Everything had to be perfect for the hungry theatre crowd that would soon descend upon the buffet like a swarming of bees.

 She removed the cork from the champagne bottles and inhaled the bouquet, prompting a memory of her favourite beverage at ziggurat. Home seemed like a far off memory, more difficult to access with each passing day but this was no time to fall back on reminiscences. Control and moderation were her guide words since all was in readiness for the next and hopefully final step.

 She was feeling quite isolated these days and memories of her former life were the only thing that kept her going. It was becoming increasingly difficult to repress the other side. Back home it would be her day of maturation and a week of celebration, but here there was still work left to be done.

 “For heaven’s sake put the champagne in an ice bucket,” a voice behind her ordered. “Haven’t we taught you anything? Honestly – your type…” his voice trailed off as he moved down the table, his white linen serviette slapping away invisible crumbs from the tablecloth.  “You call this silverware polished?” he demanded, wiping the fork tines with a napkin. Such a lackadaisical effort but what can one expect coming from…your type? Why we agreed to take you on I’ll never know but only a little while longer, though, thank goodness.”

 She felt something building in her chest that slowly moved up to her throat, along with a definite pulsation on the right side of her eye.

 “Ignore him,” one of the waiters whispered. “Their kind’ think they’re so smart but they’ll find out otherwise, very soon.”

 “Oh he knows exactly what he’s saying and those words are intentional to maximize their effect on me,” she responded, her gaze now focused directly on the source of her growing rage.

 “It’s not uncommon for them to address each other in that manner,” the waiter offered, attempting to distract her attention. “I think they call it…sarcasm…”

At that point she had stopped hearing anything and started moving forward slowly at first, picking up speed as she neared her target. He was sampling some of the dishes laid out on the table when she moved directly behind him.

 “Can’t any of you do anything right?” he bellowed, spitting liquid back into the soup tureen. “I’ve had it. Tomorrow I’m going to start proceedings to have you all removed. I try and do a good thing and…”

 At the point where she was almost on top of him he whirled around, his face contorted in fear with the sudden realization of what was happening. Her trajectory was slightly off that evening having forgotten to regenerate the night before. The head leader had cautioned them to adhere to a daily routine or rapid decline would ensue. The organizer didn’t see the six foot green-grey mass of glowing orange skin and flesh lunge in his direction until it was too late. In fact there wasn’t even enough time for a scream to escape from his throat.

 “The sushi could be a little off tonight,” she commented as the features on his face turned into a bloody mass, “and the roast beef is a little overcooked for my taste. Of course I prefer mine more on the very rare side…” she opined. “Now let me ask you something important. Do you think a Chablis or rosé would be better?”

 By the time the theatre crowd filed into the room, she had the glasses filled with champagne.  The drink fountain was a particular hit and speculation was rife as to the source of the unusual red tint to it.

 She removed the white linen serviette from her uniform pocket and folded it neatly, to be added to the rest of her earthly souvenirs.

 “Don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore, sweetheart,” she whispered, patting her now bulging stomach.

Nothing fishy about it - Debrett's has it all covered. More advice

As people who follow or at least read this blog are aware, I'm an admirer of Debrett's, "the" guide to everything etiquette. Advice on the 'how-to's" ranging from planning a wedding reception, decorum when meeting and out and about royalty, holiday deportment... basically a guide on the correct way to conduct oneself.

Periodically, it's good to check in with Debrett's for any updates or changes to their offerings. I mean, one should always be prepared in case an opportunity to meet-and-greet or dine with royalty. It wouldn't be acceptable for a social faux pas denoting a lack of savoir faire when it comes to politesse. Feeling very french today. But I digress.

It is for this very reason that a visual cyber consultation was in order lest one make a blunder in etiquette. Being that I'm not a fan of shell fish and my philosophy is this regard is not to eat a food that stares back at you and requires the wearing of a bib, never noted the section focusing on the consuming of these helpless, gourmet food items. According to the guide and to allow easy access to the flesh, it would be acceptable to use one's fork while holding a/the shell steady with one hand in order to make the task easier. A lobster cracker may be required to remove flesh from the large claws. According to wisegeek.com, a lobster cracker is a kitchen tool designed to help people crack open lobsters. Furthermore, "lobster crackers can also be used on crabs and some nuts as well." One assumes they're referring to the crustacean kind and not the human type.

Having eaten shell fish perhaps twice maybe four times in my life, the arrival of the/a crustacean on a plate with its black eyes staring into mine is just to emotionally overwhelming, especially the sound of cracking shells. Guilt thy name is Eleanor.

There is also a section devoted to the preparation and enjoyment of sushi.  Debrett's is like... so up-to-date on all the latest food favorites. In as far as this popular delicacy is concerned, raw fish doesn't do it for me although the vegetable sushi is acceptable. Its (sushi) texture on my tongue causes an instantaneous ejection of the consumed particle, if you get my drift. Back to the how-to's of eating, soy sauce should be poured into a saucer (or dish/whatever receptacle is on hand for this purpose) and mix in some wasabi. Debrett's advises that it is socially acceptable and even polite to pour some for your dining partner. Go figure!

"Wasabi my dear?"

"How nice of you to ask. Of course. What exactly is wasabi?"

"The partner for sushi. Here - let me pour for you. Say when."

The way to proceed is to dip sashimi or sliced raw fish, into the sauce with chopsticks and then enjoy. Never mastered the art of using chopsticks but they have a section covering the how-to's of mastering this art. It seems that "sushi rolls and nigiri (blocks of rice with fish on top) should be eaten whole; attempting to bite in two can lead to a scattering of debris across the table."

This leads one - me - pondering the acceptable form of collecting sushi debris from a table. Does one or should one attempt to pick it up with chopsticks, or is a fork acceptable? What about the use of fingers, which would ideally handle the task? Is a verbal apology acceptable or does one smile and concern oneself with the task of removing said sushi debris? These are important questions, people!

In any case and just in case sushi aficenados feel so inclined, came across a site that will help in the step-by-step creation of sushi specialties: http://www.pbs.org/food/fresh-tastes/how-to-make-sushi-with-step-by-step-breakdown/ This leads one - me - to ponder as to the best means in which to eliminate the post-sushi taste and odor following a sushi session.

In as far as learning the art of holding chopsticks, the thumb and forefinger manipulates the top of the stick while the middle finger rests between the sticks, while the bottom stick is motionless. It is the top stick manoeuvered by the thumb and forefinger that is used to grip the food and carry it up to one's mouth. Easier said or written than actually accomplished. Having never mastered this art, my philosophy is a fork handles the job so much easier - and neater. I mean, why torture oneself to manipulate sticks when cutlery is designed for this purpose? Debrett's concludes this subject with the advice never to use chopsticks to pass food to people (when you can pick up the food in the first place) and never use them to point at people. A finger is okay for this purpose but not chopsticks one presumes. Chopstick pointing could be dangerous or something.

Nothing fishy when it comes to Debrett's.

NEXT BLOG: We'll be examining how to eat canapes, oysters and caviar and later on, the art of eating spaghetti, and eating soup

"It!" - a fearful tale for Halloween

“Good enough to eat!” she snickered to herself, adjusting the pieces of raw fish on the platter that was filled to overflowing with a vast assortment of sushi. Opening her mouth slightly a thick stream of yellow saliva trickled down her chin landing squarely on top of the two centre pieces.

“My compliments to the chef,” she said in a whisper, cleaning the sushi with a napkin and then wiping the drool from her mouth.

Everything had to be perfect for the hungry theatre crowd that would soon descend upon the buffet like a swarming of bees.

Removing the cork from the champagne bottles, she inhaled the fumes as flashes of memory of her favorite beverage came flooding back. Home seemed like a far off recollection that was becoming more difficult to access with each passing day, but this was no time to fall back on reminiscences. Control and moderation were the guide words in preparation for the next and hopefully final step.

She was feeling quite isolated these days and images of her former life were the only thing that kept her going. It was becoming increasingly difficult to repress the other side. Back home it would be her day of maturation and a week of celebration, but she was here with work still to be done.

Patience, she had been reminded, was important for the success of their project.

“For heaven’s sake put the champagne in an ice bucket,” a voice behind her ordered. “Haven’t we taught you anything? Honestly – your type…” his voice trailed off as he moved down the table, his white linen serviette slapping away invisible crumbs from the tablecloth.

“You call this silverware polished?” he demanded, wiping the fork tines with a napkin. Such a lackadaisical effort but what can one expect coming from - your type? Why we agreed to take you on I’ll never know but only a little while longer, though, thank goodness.”

She felt something building in her chest that slowly moved up to her throat, and there was a definite pulsation on the right side of her eye.

“Ignore him,” one of the waiters whispered. “Their kind think they’re so smart but they’ll find out otherwise, very soon.”

“He knows exactly what he’s saying and those words are intentional to maximize their effect on me,” she responded, her gaze now focused directly on the source of her growing rage.

“It’s not uncommon for them to address each other in that manner,” the waiter offered, attempting to distract her attention. “I think they call it…sarcasm…”

At that point she had stopped hearing anything and started moving forward slowly at first, then picking up speed as she neared her target. He was sampling some of the dishes laid out on the table when she moved directly behind him.

“Can’t any of you do anything right?” he bellowed, spitting liquid back into the soup tureen. “I’ve had it. Tomorrow I’m going to start proceedings to have you all removed. I try and do a good thing and…”

At the point where she was almost on top of him he whirled around, his face contorted in fear with the sudden realization of what was happening. Her trajectory was slightly off that evening since she had forgotten to transfigure the night before. The head Imagineer had cautioned them to adhere to a daily routine or rapid degeneration would ensue. The waiter didn’t see the six foot green-grey mass of glowing orange skin and pulsating flesh lunge in his direction until it was too late. In fact there wasn’t even enough time for a scream to escape from his throat.

“The sushi could be a little off tonight,” she commented as his facial features blended into a bloody mass of flesh and bone, “and the roast beef is a little overcooked for my taste. Of course I prefer mine more on the very rare side…” she opined. “Now let me ask you something important.  Chablis or rosé?”

By the time the theatre crowd filed into the room, she had the glasses filled with champagne. The beverage fountain was a particular hit and speculation was rife as to the source of the unusual red-ish tint to it.

She removed the white linen serviette from her uniform pocket and folded it neatly, to be added to the rest of her earthly souvenirs.

“Don’t think you’ll be needing this anymore,” she whispered, patting her now bulging stomach. "Decorum is so important these days."