Tag: food

The Apples

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As I walk along the path to the castle, the trees bend down and offer me some apples.
“They are juicy and ripe,” say the trees. “We’d hate for them to go to waste.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m allergic to apples.”
Insulted, the trees turn their backs to the path.
“I could juggle them if you’d like,” I say.
The trees are shocked. “How would you like it if we asked if we could juggle your babies?” they ask.
“But you offered to let me eat them,” I said.
“That’s different,” they say, and I walk in uncomfortable silence.

Two Hundred Grapes

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She waved a bony hand over the glass, refilling it with wine.
The demon she’d summoned was a gossip. He’d have told her anything, even without the wine.
“I just enjoy the company,” he said. “But the wine helps.”
“Tell me more,” says the witch. “Please,” she added.
“There’s nothing more to say,” says the demon. His red, scaly hand wraps its talons around the glass, raises it to black lips over yellowed fangs, and he sips. “What’s new with you?”
She nodded, broke the circle around his chair with a heel, and they had a nice quiet evening together.

Sushi dealer

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The dealer skillfully floats the cards, gently landing in a pile in front of each of us.
He stands there with arms at rest, waiting for the first bet.
We stare back at him.
He doesn’t blink.
“We ordered sushi,” I said. “What’s with the cards?”
The plastic on the cards is starting to melt into the cooking surface of the table.
We look at each other. Did we go to a Japanese restaurant or a casino?
The cards are a mess.
Somewhere, in Vegas, a sushi chef is waving knives around.
He’ll probably get better tips than our dealer.

Is it pie?

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I’m looking at my windowsill.
There is a pie there, cooling slowly.
I try to smell which flavor it is, but I can’t tell.
You should be able to tell what flavor a pie is from smelling it.
So I’m wondering if this is really pie.
I’ve heard rumors about this. Stories.
Bad stories.
I should be careful.
So, I poke it with a knife, and the pie crust moves.
It’s a fake. A doppieganger, pretending to be pie.
I stab it with the knife.
It’s a delicious, blueberry doppieganger.
Satisfied, I reach for the ice cream and a fork.

The Salad Races

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We both order club salads and watch the lady behind the counter pull out two metal bowls.
The race is on.
She grabs twice the usual amount of ingredients each time, dividing them between the bowls.
Lettuce, chopped ham, eggs…
It was neck and neck until it was time for the dressing.
“One scoop or two?”
We both said one. Two would slow us down.
She mixes things up, scraping the bowls loudly with the salad tongs.
Bowls are poured into plastic clamshells.
And I get the first.
Victory!
I celebrate with a lap around the restaurant and leave.

Piano Bar

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The kids were hungry, so I said “Let’s go to McDonalds.”
They screamed “No!”
Sounds weird, right? Kids not wanting to go to McDonalds?
Well, it makes a lot more sense when I mention: our McDonalds has a piano bar.
Three hours later, the kids are asleep in the ball pit and I’m blasted out of my mind as all the soccermoms and single dads are singing whatever the guy on the bench is playing.
A guy in a Grimmace costume asks me if I need a cab.
“Just a light,” I say, cigarette in hand.
The kids scream louder.

Sexy Burrito Of War

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At a fast food Mexican shithole, well past midnight, I’m looking up and down the menu.
Breakfast tacos. It’s what I always get-
WAIT!
What the fuck is a Sexy Burrito Of War?
I ask the guy behind the counter, and I can see his knuckles go white as he grips the register.
“You want the Sexy Burrito Of War? Seriously?”
No, I just want to know what the fuck it is.
Maybe I’ll want it if it sounds good. Maybe not.
I have to sign a release form. Run on a treadmill.
Maybe I’ll just have some breakfast tacos.

Fiddle Faddle

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I admit it. I’m addicted to Fiddle Faddle.
I love the stuff. It’s so much better than Chex Mix.
Some people will eat any snack, but I refuse to eat anything but Fiddle Faddle for a snack.
Once, on April Fools, my friends told me they weren’t going to make Fiddle Faddle anymore.
Oh no! What would I snack on?
That night, one of my friends turned out to be a vampire and he bit me on the neck, turning me into a vampire.
Since then, I’ve just had blood.
I’ll live forever, but without Fiddle Faddle?
Stake me now.

The Labels

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Something strange happened last night.
All of the labels on the cans in the pantry vanished.
I don’t know how or why. It just happened.
Now, I have no idea what’s in these cans.
Well, okay, maybe the tomato paste is easy to identify. They’re small and thin.
Soup cans are all the same. I never buy soup that I don’t like, so I can just grab any can shaped like that.
The rest are canned fruit. I should eat more of that.
Every can I will open will be a new mystery solved.
This is going to be fun.

Migration

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Watch the spaghetti for me.
Don’t let it overcook. And don’t let it escape.
Remember the last time the spaghetti got loose? It took an entire legion of the Baron’s soldiers to subdue and drive back to the kitchen.
If it hadn’t been so delicious, both of us would have lost our heads.
They say that spaghetti is supposed to be easy, but when you forget to salt the water, all kinds of curses and maliciousness gets into the pasta.
The meatballs are screaming again?
Best not to serve them at all. We’ll use olive oil and pepper this time.