bifrost@reed.UUCP (Alan Schmidt) (03/14/85)
ly pushing aside my smoked oysters. I grabbed the
waiter by his bow tie and twisted until his eyes bulged. "I
need _e_x_c_i_t_e_m_e_n_t; I need _v_a_r_i_e_t_y!" I shrieked, and flung him
into the Matre D', who had noticed to the waiter's flailing
arms.
It's not that I dislike oysters. I mean, I like them
as much as anyone _c_a_n like oysters. Seafood just gets droll
after a while. It's just not _r_i_g_h_t to be unable to stifle a
yawn when the cook begins to fry the phoenix tailed prawns
at the table.
So, as any determined soul would, I set out in search
of the ultimate gastronomic delight.
I crossed the mountains to Shanghai, and tried not to
snicker as images of the Swedish chef passed through my
mind. Shunning the _c_o_n_g_e_e (it's just soggy rice, as far as
I'm concerned, no matter what they prepare it with), I
lunged into the marinated radish fans. I soon thought
better of that.
I squinted at the menu again. The only Mandarin I know
is useless in restaurants. In fact, the only thing I can
say is unprintable in the gentler press. Drunk chicken was
better, but seemed to emulate a dish made with inferior
sherry.
At last, I gave up when the Chrysanthemum Fire Pot
resembled nothing so much as bouillabaisse.
Dejected, I left Shanghai. It was then that one of
those unpredictable twists of fate grabbed me about the
ankle, throwing me off balance. I acted.
"Stop the plane!" I demanded, forcing myself into the
cockpit. I smashed my fists again and again into the
instrument panel, and threw small objects around the
enclosed area, managing to knock the co-pilot unconscious.
The plane stopped.
We spiraled amazingly well to the ground. I staggered
to a cafe in the small airport after the tedious process of
customs (Oh, the volumes I could write about customs!), and
gazed at the menu. And there... there... There were
dishes to suit all people off all dispositions. Deer's
tail, ape's lips, unborn baby jaguar, camel's hump, bear's
paw, elephant's trunk, fish tail and monkey head: The eight
perfect foods!
Seventeen months I spent in that hamlet, sampling food
fit for gods, returning only for wine and champagne glasses
(their life span is not long, since they must be flung into
fireplaces on convivial occasions). I'm returning now,
stopping only long enough to try and hearten those who have
lost hope.
There _i_s a paradise.
From the glimmering rainbow of Heimdal.
..tektronix!reed!bifrost