James White - The Galactic Gourmet

It had been left to Gurronsevas’s discretion whether or when to show the pictures to Remrath. The news of the arrival of the hunting party might have an unsettling effect on his steadily improving relations with Remrath. Since their trip together in the valley, the Chief Cook had never been short of words, especially, as now, when they were words of criticism.

“This is completely ridiculous and childish,” said the Wem impatiently. “Gurronsevas, how often must I tell you that eating vegetation is a practice forced on us by near-starvation and not by choice. Cold or hot, raw or stewed, whatever form they take, they are still vegetables. You make them look nice on the platter, I admit, but youngsters find it easier to make designs by pushing colored stones and pieces of wood around on their desktops than by making a soggy mess with bits of raw vegetation on their platters. What is it? Surely you don’t expect anyone to actually eat this stuff?”

“It is a salad,” he replied patiently in an attempt to counter the other’s impatience. “If you will observe it closely you will find that it is composed of small amounts of familiar Wem vegetation, diced, sliced and shredded into unfamiliar forms, covered lightly with a dressing comprised of your vrie seeds crushed and mixed with the juice of unripe moss berries to give it the necessary tang, and arranged into a visually interesting design. The crill bud can also be eaten if desired, and they will be fully opened by the time the meal is served, but their purpose is chiefly decorative as well as aroma-enhancing. I have already explained that the attraction of this dish, and of the other two dishes on the tray, lie in their visual and olfactory presentation as well as in the taste.

“Please try the salad,” Gurronsevas went on. “I have eaten of all three dishes without harm to myself and, in spite of the ingredients being strange to me, I have found some of them to be quite pleasant.”

That was not entirely true, he thought. During the early experimentation with Wem vegetation the pleasure had been preceded by much digestive displeasure. But, he reminded himself, a great deal of trouble had been caused throughout every world’s history by people who insisted on telling too much of the truth.

“Taste them and see,” he added.

“I do not understand why there have to be three separate dishes,” said Remrath. “Why not mix them all together?”

The mere idea sent a small, unnoticed shiver of revulsion through Gurronsevas’ massive body. He had already answered that question earlier and suspected that Remrath was simply fighting a delaying action which, as a fellow cook, it could not hope to win. Perhaps he should answer it again, and this time leave no doubt in the other’s mind about his meaning.

“Among all of the intelligent species known to me,” said Gurronsevas, “the practice is to prepare and serve meals comprising a number of separate and contrasting or complementary dishes, or courses. This is because they consider eating as a pleasure of the taste sensors that can at times be subtle and long-delayed and at other times sharp and intense. The ingredients of the individual dishes are chosen to perform a similar function on a smaller scale within a single course.

“A meal can consist of many different courses,” he went on enthusiastically, “five, eleven, or even more, so that the event can last for hours. With the larger and more complex meals, which often have the secondary political and psychological function of impressing the guests with their host’s or its organization’s or tribe’s wealth, the diner is not expected to eat everything that is set before it; and great gastronomic discomfort would ensue should it try. Personally, I am not in favor of such over-large and wasteful meals, favoring as I do quality rather than quantity. Nevertheless, each and every course is meticulously prepared and served with the proper accompanying—”

“Off-worlders waste so much of their lives eating,” Remrath broke in, “how did you find the time to build starships and carts that float on air and your other technical marvels?”

“We use these things without needing to understand them,” Gurronsevas replied. “They are built to save time, not waste it, so that we can have more of it to enjoy the lasting pleasures of life, like eating.”

Remrath’s reply did not translate.

“There are other pleasures,” Gurronsevas admitted, “especially those associated with procreation. But these cannot be indulged in continually, or with great frequency, without incurring severe debilitation or some other health penalty. The same applies to the exciting or dangerous activities of, say, mountain-climbing, sea-diving or flying in unpowered aircraft. The principal excitement of those occupations is that the entity concerned is pitting daring and skill against what can often become a life-threatening situation. The mental and physical coordination required for these activities deteriorates with age, but with age the ability to appreciate the pleasures of good food and drink increases with practice. And they are pleasures which can be repeatedly indulged to satiety and which, when the proper foods are ingested regularly and in the correct amounts, can significantly extend your life.”

Remrath said quietly, “Eating this stuff, eating raw vegetables, will keep my body young and fresh?”

“If they are eaten from an early age and throughout maturity,” Gurronsevas replied, “they will keep you younger and fresher for a much longer time. Especially if you learn to eat vegetation exclusively, as I prefer to do. Our own healers agree on this, and I have personal experience of cooking for aging beings where such was the case. But I must be truthful. Changing your eating habits would not mean that your people would live forever.”

Remrath returned its attention to the tray Gurronsevas had prepared with such care, then said sourly, “If they have to eat this stuff, they would not want to.”

Gurronsevas thought that he had received more professional insults since coming to Wemar than in all of his past life. He indicated the tray and returned firmly to his subject.

“As I was saying,” he said, “a meal normally consists of three courses. The first, which I have already described, is a small, fresh-tasting starter designed merely to sharpen rather than blunt the appetite.

“It is followed by the main course,” he continued, “which is more nutritious and varied regarding its ingredients and, as you can see, much more bulky. Here again the visual presentation is important and you will recognize most of the vegetables, although you are not used to seeing some of them in this under-cooked form. This was done so that each variety could be placed separately on the platter, which adds to the visual effect as well as allowing the vegetables to retain their individual tastes, which would otherwise be diluted or lost if they were to be mixed together in a stew. As in your stew, the principal vegetable used is the orrogne. It is, if you will excuse me saying so, a particularly bland and tasteless vegetable which I have sliced and dry-cooked, we call it roasting, after brushing on a little oil of crushed glunce berries, which you do not appear to consider a food, to avoid charring. The orrogne taste remains the same, but with the surfaces crisped and covered by a film of oil, I think you will find it more interesting to eat …”

“It has an interesting smell,” said Remrath, inhaling loudly through its nose and bending over the tray.“… Especially,” Gurronsevas went on, “in conjunction with the dark red jelly, which was also made from local — no, don’t eat it directly with a spoon. Use your food spike, select a portion of vegetable and touch it lightly against the jelly. It is similar to Kelgian sarkun, or strong Earth mustard, and is very hot on the tongue—”