A Mysterious Meal
Where do I start? Where does anyone start when talking about something completely insane? As much as I have no idea what is happening to me, I know what happened to bring me to this point. I suppose it was my hobby that got me in this situation; how could something I enjoy so much leave me in such a desperate state?
Food
is my number one interest and has been for a large part of my life. The combination of flavours and textures are
endless; just when you think you’ve tried everything, something new starts to
trend and your world is opened up even further.
One bite can take you on an exotic journey filled with unfamiliar spices
and aromas, while another can send you back in time to a comforting moment from
your childhood.
I love to
cook and experiment with flavour, I have ever since I took a cooking class at
my old high school. All those years ago
I thought that having basic cooking skills would simply be a useful skill to
have, plus, the course seemed like a bird class and it seemed like it would be
a breeze. Little did I know, I was about
to have my entire world opened up; it was like I had been living in black and
white for all these years, and for the first time, I saw the entire prismatic
spectrum of colours.
This sparked
the flames of a life-long passion grew as it mutated into different forms of
appreciation. At first it was reading
the cooking textbooks front-to-back and trying to arrange any extra time in the
Cooking Lab to practice. Once I
graduated, I began cooking any change I could get. I also started to watch cooking shows at this
time, and it wasn’t too long before these became the only TV that I watched.
I know, I know, it was more than
just a hobby or passion; I was obsessed, and that obsession led me to my
current predicament.
There’s
probably many different ways you can figure out if an interest of yours is a
passion or an obsession, but in my opinion, there’s only one that matters; a
passion no longer is a passion once it becomes insatiable, and oh boy was I
insatiable.
After a
decade and a half of cooking three times a day, perfecting an impossible amount
of recipes and cramming my head with every celebrity chef on the Food
Channel. I fused cultural flavours to
create exquisite dishes, but no matter what I created and no matter what dinner
quests would tell me, it was never enough.
Their praise was sung to deaf ears as I wanted to experience more; this
was my first of many mistakes that took me down the dark path that lead me to
locking myself in my bathroom with my laptop.
After
finding myself unable to satiate my hunger, I began to look elsewhere. There are foods that most of the population
have not tasted; hell, most people don’t even know about these foods. But if you have the right connections and
enough money, you can acquire anything.
One of the people I knew from my cooking days in high school, Aaron
Graham, turned out to be one of these people who could find me these forbidden
dishes, and I have utilized his connections numerous times in the last couple
of years. You could say, that Mr. Graham
was the doorman to my demise.
Thanks to
him, I have sipped on shark fin soup, partook in a hooded ortolan ritual, eaten
turtle soup topped with beluga caviar by the spoonful, nibbled on foie gras,
and have even had fugu and lived to talk about it. I’ve even tasted horse meat, but that’s not
one I brag about. Aaron was the one who
set me up with all of these meals, so when he approached me about an exclusive,
deluxe opportunity, I couldn’t say no.
“There’s an old building near the
corner of East Main and Niagara, one of those spots that are cursed to never
hold a successful restaurant. You know
those buildings, the ones that you’ve seen a dozen different names on top of a
fresh coat of paint in the last twenty years.
Well I know of this new up-and-comer who is creating dishes that you
wouldn’t dream of. He is holding a
one-night event that will be unlike any other.
Not only is he claiming to have extremely rare ingredients, but he is
catering to a dark dining experience.
The way he describes it, this will be a completely different sensory
experience unlike anything you’ve had.
No sight or sound, only taste and smell.
What do you say?”
What could I say to that, except
for him to name the date and time. Of
course, that led me to tonight at 9:00 PM.
I
arrived at 8:30 PM, wearing my best suit; I decided on a slate gray, slim fit,
paired with an obsidian button-up and a crisp white tie. It was a point of pride of mine to wear white
to a meal like this; what a better way to display your status and ability than
exiting a meal with white as pure and unblemished as when you arrived? This was something that I cared about so
deeply for so long, and now it seems so shallow, arrogant and trivial.
The
building was in disrepair, with paint peeling off the sun-bleached walls and
half of the lights either not working, or flickering like rave strobes. A couple years ago, this would have sent the
hairs on the back of my neck standing at full attention. But after attending exclusive events like
this, I learned that these buildings had a purpose, and their appearance hid
that from the world. You see, restaurant
turnover happens so frequently and suddenly in North America that some
buildings remain vacant for anywhere from months to years. Some of these buildings, but not all, own
their equipment.
Basically, this means that these
are the perfect spots for private dinner events.
I
walked into this rundown box in the middle of the street, to find a strikingly
different interior. The room was smaller
than anticipated, but it was in immaculate condition. The tile on the floor shone from the fresh
wax, the walls and ceiling were stainless steel which reflected the dim
fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling.
At the back of the room, there was a single door with a table in front
of it. At this table were two chairs, with
two men standing behind them; Aaron Graham and the mysterious chef who was
catering this private event.
Aaron
stood up to greet me, telling me that this would be a culinary event unlike
anything I had ever experienced before.
He introduced me to our host of the evening, Chef Boyd West. Chef West was a stoic man of few words. I introduced myself to him and expressed my
excitement on trying his dishes. He
thanked me for my kind words, inviting me to sit, saying the event will begin
shortly. Now, I was doubtful about the
whole “dining in the dark” experience; I had heard that it was an expensive
gimmick that barely accentuated the flavours and textures of the food. But Chef West didn’t seem like the type who
messed around, especially when it came to his food.
Aaron
and I sat opposite of each other as Chef West exited through the door. We exchanged small talk for a brief couple
moments until Chef West came through the door wearing his full chef’s
uniform. He spoke briefly, words that
have been echoing though my head in the hours that followed everything.
“Thank you both for dining with
me this evening. Tonight I will be
attempting something that has never been done before. You not only will be experiencing flavours in
a sensory-enhanced experience, but these flavours themselves are something very
few people have ever tasted. I pray you
enjoy the meal as much as I have enjoyed preparing it.”
When
he spoke his piece, he retreated through the door; as it shut, the lights were
snuffed with a loud click. A small
chuckle escaped my mouth at the theatrics, while Aaron clapped several times. The room was darker than anything I had ever
experienced; it felt like I was an abstract consciousness floating in an empty
void. I couldn’t see my hand in front of
my face, and the more I focused on that, I began to realize there was a static
playing in my ears that made hearing my own breath impossible.
A
panic began to set in my head, one that I had never experienced before. It was existential and paranoid, but there
was something else. This felt wrong, but
a deep wrong that I couldn’t sort out. I
chocked it up to how new this experience was, and shifted my attention to my
meal. I slowly began to move my hands
around the table, wanting to get an idea where my plate was.
To
my most pleasant surprise, there was a filled plate in front of me. Gently, I felt the items on the plate; the
cool, leafy texture combined with slimy cubes told me this was a salad. As eloquently as I could, I found my fork,
stabbed the contents of my plate and guided it to my mouth. The flavours exploded in my mouth, notes of
berries and citrus, with the mellow flavours of a melody of vegetables. But the biggest draw for me was the crunch;
the salad’s fresh textures broke under my teeth over and over. I couldn’t tell if this was due to the
ingredients or the darkness, but whatever the cause, this is what I was looking
for.
The
salad was exquisite, but there was one aspect that I didn’t care for. There were these spheres mixed in with the
greens that had a pungent taste, almost like garlic mixed with jackfruit; I
didn’t care for them, but I could see what they accentuated in the dish.
Time
was an abstract concept at this point; it seemed like it was dragging by
between meals, but it seemed like the second course started. There was a soothingly warm bowl in front of
me. Now, it was a little unusual to
start with salad, since normally it would be used as a palate cleanser, but I was
here to experience Chef West’s style, and I was enjoying it so far.
I
quickly found my spoon and did not hesitate to dip it into the mystery broth
inside. There was a rich, delicious
seafood and umami flavour profile, one that I absolutely loved. I sipped on it quicker than I would have ever
done in the light, but it was addictively good that I couldn’t help myself. There were a few pieces of seafood in the
soup that were simmered to perfection; lobster, crab, shrimp, scallops and the
like. There was one piece that I couldn’t
identify for the life of me. It seemed
charred with how crunchy it was, and there seemed to be too many angles in
it. Regardless it was delicious, and
before I knew it, not only was I done my soup, but the next course was in front
of me.
I only took two bites, and they
are the reason why I’m as terrified as I am.
The
dish seemed like a standard main course; meat, a starch and vegetables. I grabbed my knife and blindly cut several
pieces off the meat. Impaling the first
piece on my fork, and placed it into my mouth.
Everything about it sent impulses into my brain that this was wrong.
It
was sour, much sour than any meat should be, and tender to the point of feeling
like mushy fruit in my mouth. Whatever
that was, and however the chef cooked it, it shouldn’t have been something you
serve to anyone. Plus, it was ice
cold. Not wanting to insult the chef, I
forced myself to swallow it down. But as
I did this, I felt something move down my oesophagus into my stomach. I sat there completely still as something
squirmed in my stomach. I knew that some
animal’s nervous system could be stimulated after death and could continue
moving; I hoped to God this was the same thing.
I calmed myself, settling my raised heartbeat and telling myself that
another bite would be delicious and the flips in my stomach would go away.
I was dead wrong.
The
second bite is caused me to react. The
squirming deep in my stomach is something I was trying to ignore, but that
second mouthful was too much for me to handle.
The texture was just has confusing as the first bite, and it was just as
cold. But as I chewed, it began to heat
up. By the time I swallowed, the unknown
substance in my mouth was warm; by the time it hit my stomach, it felt like
freshly made soup. My stomach was a cauldron
on a roaring fire, and I did something that I had never done in any culinary setting;
I vomited out my food, and what came out froze my blood.
I
was sitting in the dark, so I shouldn’t have been able to see what came out of
my mouth. But sitting on my plate, amidst
a puddle of glowing green liquid, was a masticated piece of bioluminescent, icy-blue… something, that had a slight purple glow
deep inside that seemed to be pulsing the longer I looked at it. I felt bolted to my seat, I could only look
down at the glowing material seeping into my white tie.
When
I say this substance was glowing, I don’t mean slightly; this liquid was
exuding enough light to illuminate the far corners of the room. Once I took everything in, there were two
striking details that I noticed. First,
the door to the kitchen was swinging slightly; I knew that Chef West was
watching us eat and would have been able to see in order to fill our plates,
but this told me he ran at my reaction to the food. The second thing that was painfully apparent
was that I was dining on my own; Aaron Graham had abandoned me.
I
was confused and scared beyond any rational thought, with a splash of disgust
at whatever I had been eating. My
fight-or-flight response had kicked in, and flight was the winner. I jumped out of my seat and bolted for the
door. Crashing through to the outside, the
ambient sounds of the city rushed into my ears as I began to sprint up Niagara
Street, running to my hotel room. I ran
faster than I ever had, not taking a single moment to stop on my journey.
The
only moment I faltered was when a headache abruptly settled in my head, but I
never stopped. I pushed through the
searing pain; I pushed through my vision becoming blurry. Well, blurry isn’t the right word. My vision began to split, almost as if you
were wearing those old-school red and blue 3-D glasses. My sight split as the image in front of me
was turning gray. The warm colours split
off from the cool colours. This only
happened for a minute or two, and it only fuelled my drive to keep running.
I finally
slowed once I reached the entrance to the Best Western I am staying at, but I
didn’t stop. Without looking at another
soul, I walked into the elevator and pressed 3 for my floor. I stared straight ahead, and as soon as the
doors opened wide enough for my slight frame, I walked briskly to my room.
I locked the
door with every lock there was available, but not before putting up the ‘Do Not
Disturb’ sign. I rushed to the bathroom
and finally saw my reflection. I was
much paler than I had ever been before, my eyes were bloodshot and looked like
I hadn’t slept in a week. The most
shocking sight was my mouth, it was stained blue from the… well from the main
course I suppose.
The sight
was sickening and after taking in the weary man staring back at me, I threw up
everything that was in my stomach into the toilet. Once I was done, I looked at the inky black
mess in the toilet bowl. There were
green and blue glowing spots and some bubbles that seemed to be moving around
by their own volition. I closed the lid,
but didn’t flush; who knows what was in there, and maybe I wanted to take a
look once the panic wore off.
I returned
to the mirror as Chef West’s words echoed in my head as I stared at the bright
blue stain around my lips and the glowing lime green stains on my tie.
“…these flavours themselves are
something very few people have ever tasted.
I pray you enjoy the meal as much I have enjoyed preparing it.”
The
longer I stared at my horrified reflection as my vision began to pulse and
distort once again. As this happened, my
sclera darkened as my pupil lightened and a violet hue flashed through my
iris. My headache got worse as the wave
of despair washed over me once again. I’m
terrified of what is happening to me, but there is a singular other thought
bouncing through my head.
What the hell did I eat tonight?
- Cody S
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