Drop #152: Brunch

sesame balls‘Oh my goodness,’ he said, scratching his beard, ‘it was incredible! They had all different kinds of potatoes, even blue ones, done all different kinds of ways! Roasted, mashed, fried with truffle salt, and even turned into pancakes with sour cream, salmon and caviar on top—caviar! Why thank you comrade! Then there was two wooden boards big as a submarines with cheeses from all over the world—I’m talking French, Dutch, English. There was one, I forget the name, from some special region in the Italian Alps, and another that was kept in a cave for more than a year like some prisoner of war. There was goat and sheep cheese, blue and flavored cheese, and some kind of cheese that oozed out onto the board like demon semen—I’m telling ya! And they had must have been twenty kinds of breads and rolls and loaves. And international! Let me tell you: there was an Italian station where you could choose your noodles and sauce to be cooked right in front of you any way you wanted, a Chinese one with endless dim sums in bamboo steamers and served on fancy porcelain spoons, a Japanese station with sushis and whatnot, and an Indian station with who knows how many kinds of curries, and flatbreads cooked in clay ovens. There was a full carvery with ham and brisket and beef–and oh my lord, you should have seen the seafood—what they called the raw bar. I’m talking crab claws the size of human arms, and ruby red prawns, and rainbow colored crawfish staring up at you, and all different shapes and sizes of shrimp and mussels and clams and oysters, all on ice and ripe for the plucking! They even had lobster already cooked and cracked open so alls you had to do was scoop out the sweet as syrup flesh and guzzle it up! Just phenomenal, and with all the French Champagne you could drink too, mind you, and thank you very much! And oh my word, I haven’t even mentioned the best thing! They had a fountain made of—get this!–chocolate! Liquid chocolate, just like Wally Wonka himself had in his factory. Almost stripped to my boxers and took a dip myself is what I almost did.’

‘Swell,’ she said, getting up. ‘Be right back. I just have to get something from the kitchen.’

Gary was sitting at the kitchen table. ‘Hey there, Jane,’ he said, smiling the way he does: all squint, no lip.

‘Hey. So, last night with visitors, right?’

‘Yup. They’re off in the morning.’

‘Good brunch?’

‘Eh. Nothing too special. Same as any decent hotel on any Sunday anywhere in the city.’

‘I hear you.’

By E.M. Vireo

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About EM Vireo
flooding the world with fiction

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