D. Walker - The Snacking Dead

A fanfare proclaimed the beginning of the evening’s show.The townsfolk of Canterbury crowded into the tiers around the arena at the center of the restaurant.

“Friends, welcome to Medieval Kitchen Stadium,” the King announced from his aluminum throne. “Let’s meet our challengers!”

From a curtained arch in the side of the arena emerged three men in armor. Behind them, on chains, they dragged six lurching walkers, including a dwarf. They locked the chains to rings in the walls.

“And tonight’s secret ingredient…”

Out of the curtain spilled nearly a dozen frolicsome fur-balls.

“Kittens!”

Ronnie gripped the rail in front of her. How could this be happening? “This is barbaric!” she screamed. She stormed out of the arena.

The King seemed taken aback. “We’re just letting off a little steam,” he said. “Besides,” he confided to Pam, “it’s fixed. The walkers aren’t near quick enough to catch those cats.”

It was true. The walkers staggered around after the kittens, who pranced around playfully but kept their distance from the foul-smelling creatures. The townsfolk of Canterbury cheered for their favorites.

But Pam wasn’t listening. Her attention was fixed on the dwarf.

“Earl!” she cried.

She jumped up from the table, the pizza peel in her hand.

The men of the watch tried to stop her, but they couldn’t keep up in their costume armor. She landed on the sandy floor of the arena and twirled the peel. She brained one walker with the blade and stuck the handle through the rotten skull of the other. The kittens scuttled away as Pam felled each walker in turn except for Earl, who held his good arm out to her. He was ready to feed.

The King scowled. She couldn’t be sure, but from the floor Pam thought he said, “Looks like we’ve got a new secret ingredient.”

makes 48

1 cup flour

1½ teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

⅛ teaspoon ground cayenne pepper

4 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces

½ cup shredded sharp Cheddar cheese

¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for sprinkling

3 tablespoons sour cream, plus more for brushing

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 In a large bowl or in a food processor, stir or pulse together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cayenne. Add the butter, Cheddar, and Parmesan and pulse or cut in with a pastry blender or your fingers until well combined; stir or pulse in sour cream and mustard. Shape the dough into a ball, wrap in plastic, and chill for at least 2 hours. And up to 3 days.

2 Preheat the oven to 425°F. On a lightly floured surface, roll out dough ⅛ inch thick. Cut into fingers ½ inch wide and 3 inches long. Brush each finger with sour cream and sprinkle with more Parmesan cheese.

3 Bake for 7 to 9 minutes, until pale golden brown on top. Serve warm or at room temperature.

As you prepare the cheese “fingers” pay close attention that no actual fingers get mixed in.

A figure in a black hood melted into the shadows of the castle,away from the barbarous noises of the arena.

This place held a dark secret, Ronnie could sense it. She passed the walled-up entrance to the mall, and descended a staircase to the stillness of the kitchen. The large freezers stood silent and empty. The cupboards contained only dry goods and a few garden vegetables. But there was blood on the floor.

A corridor opened from the side of the kitchen. A long window looked out onto a stable big enough for ten horses. But there were no horses. In their place Ronnie saw a motley collection of small furry animals: guinea pigs, bunnies, kittens, puppies, hamsters, even an aquarium full of goldfish.

OMG cute! It was like a whole pet store had been stashed here in this basement—but why?

The answer awaited next door.

In the tack room next to the stable Ronnie found a wall of shelves arrayed with aquariums. Inside of them, hazy animal forms sat pickling in a cloudy, greenish liquid.

Ronnie drew a breath. She thought tearfully of the “ham.”

“So you’ve found our little secret,” someone said behind her, making her nearly jump out of her skin. She backed against the door to the stable as the King approached.

“You wouldn’t do any different,” he chided. “By the time we finished the horses, the woods were pretty much hunted out by the walkers. The mall had a pet store. In this world, either you eat the pet food or you eat the pets.”

“You’re sadistic,” Ronnie spat.

He smiled uncomfortably. “You have to get it where you can find it. We eat sustainably in Canterbury. It’s just, we eat smaller than before.”

Ronnie reached for the doorknob to the stable.

makes 1 pound pickled shrimp

1½ cups water

½ cup white vinegar

½ cup apple cider vinegar

1 lemon, zested and juiced

1 fennel bulb, thinly sliced

1 garlic clove, peeled

¾ cup granulated sugar

½ teaspoon whole black peppercorns

1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt

1 pound 16–20 count shrimp, peeled and deveined

2 tablespoons finely chopped parsley

2 tablespoons finely chopped basil

1 tablespoon finely chopped fennel fronds

1 tablespoon finely chopped dill

1 In a large pot over medium-high heat, combine the water, white vinegar, apple cider vinegar, lemon juice, fennel, garlic, sugar, black peppercorns, and salt. Bring to a boil to dissolve the sugar. Add the shrimp and cook, stirring, for 30 seconds. Transfer the shrimp and liquid to a large bowl and cool to room temperature.

2 Stir in the lemon zest, parsley, basil, fennel fronds, and dill. Cover and refrigerate for at least 3 hours, up to overnight.

Catch or pick food when it’s available and preserve it for those times when the living dead make shopping difficult.

“N o!” shouted the King.

He dived to prevent her, but it was too late. Ronnie had thrown open the stable doors and released the livestock of Canterbury. Puppies and kittens darted out, leading a small stampede of guinea pigs, gerbils, parakeets, and a gecko.

He desperately tried to herd them back into the stable, but Ronnie stuck out her leg. The King tripped and crashed headfirst through the glass of one of the aquariums.

The shelves collapsed, spilling preserved victuals across the room, while the liberated pets scampered across the slippery floor in a panic.

The King fell to the ground and screamed, reaching for an oozing white orb that rolled out of his grasp. “My eye, you put out my eye!”

It was actually a pickled egg, though he had sustained a cut near his right eye. A puppy licked his briny face.