“Thank you for having us. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Brull, a Torvasi. Our home planet is Te’Warri. I am quite honored to be invited to a Human habitat for dinner. Even though we tell Marinara he is Wrogul, he insists he is Human.”
Meryll stepped up beside him and smiled faintly, then nodded to both the Torvasi and the millipede creature. “And we are glad you are here. Marinara is quite excited to prepare the meal for you. He loves his cooking and loves to share with friends.”
The millipede’s translator crackled. “My name is “Ch’c’lt. You may call me Choc, for it is certainly easier to pronounce than my full name.” Pink ribbons on several arms fluttered. She—it?—reached an arm up to shake hands with both Humans. “Thank you for having us join you for this meal.”
“Well, we must hear all about how you met Marinara. Please, come and sit down,” Meryll said, gesturing toward the living room.
“Meryll,” Marinara blurted, “please help my friends settle and grab beers while I finish the grilling.” Marinara hopped back into his mobile tank and grabbed his own beer as he scooted outside.
Michael turned to the Torvasi. “How did you meet Marinara?”
“Law enforcement,” the Torvasi said slowly.
Michael blinked. “Law enforcement?”
“Yes, I wanted to learn more about Earth law enforcement and had the privilege to come for a ten-day workshop on some software protocols. I met Marinara at the hotel café next to his school. He was traveling along the café breakfast bar taking a sample of everything the hotel had put out. I had heard of Wrogul but had never seen one. I stopped him and asked him why he was stealing all that food.”
“Oh dear,” Michael said. “You got a lecture, didn’t you?”
“Yes, indeed. He explained that he was not stealing but studying the science of breaking fast with proteins and carbohydrates on the Human gastric system and how it applied to their energy levels and good or bad humor for the day. He then explained that Earth was committing a crime against its citizens by foisting vat-grown protein upon them. He told me it was not stealing because the hotel put the food out for its guests. I explained I didn’t believe he was a hotel guest, and he countered that anything left over would be thrown out at the end of the hour, and he was simply putting it to better use.”
Michael chuckled, knowing Marinara’s ability to talk circles around any argument.
“So, we began sharing lunch when we could, exploring the different types of Human lunch foods and watching the people around us. Marinara is very interested in people. He is always watching. Sometimes he is quiet and just listens to the conversations around us. I like that, as someone interested in law enforcement. Sometimes I think he has the heart of an investigator; he has simply directed it toward food. After a couple of days, Ch’c’lt began to join us. It is too bad my workshop is ending so soon. I will be returning home in a few Sol turns. That is why Marinara planned this dinner.”
* * * * *
Chapter Eight
“So, Choc, if I remember correctly, you are Jeha?” Meryll asked tentatively. “We had some traders at Azure who had Jeha on their ships.”
“Yes, I am. And I have relatives who have met and worked with some of the Human mercenaries. I became interested in Human cuisine and wanted to learn more about Earth food. When I saw Marinara in the kitchen in one of my cooking classes, arms waving here and there, knives flashing, vegetables flying, I wanted so much to meet him. I admire him”—the translator stuttered—“excessively.”
“You do?” Michael asked, looking puzzled.
“Oh, yes,” Choc continued. “Like me, he is defying his race’s expectations. He is not surgeon or scientist but is instead pursuing his passion for cooking. My family expects us all to be engineers, but I want to pursue cooking. I can use my arms for cooking and dicing and slicing like Marinara. I want to start a restaurant on Karma to serve Human cuisine. Marinara wants his own restaurant, too. Between classes, we talk about how we’ll start our restaurants. He wants Tri-V shows, too.”
Brull’s deep voice chortled as he added, “Choc wants her own cooking show, too.”
The Jeha’s demeanor turned dreamy. “Cooking with Ch’c’lt. The hottest show on Karma.”
“Grub!” shouted Marinara as he wheeled through the door.
The foursome jumped.
“Food! Food’s done. Let’s eat!” He wheeled past the table and set down the grilled steaks, grabbing bowls and bottles from the kitchen with free arms.
“Get’cher beers, get’cher steaks—beef or salmon—the real stuff!” he added. The words came out of his translator with a twang. The next phrase was…softer, more cultured. “And ladies, we do have an excellent red wine this evening. The green salad is exquisitely made with you in mind. And please remember to save room for dessert.”
Brull’s face crinkled in delight at the spread on the table. “I hope you’re not including me in that ladies’ thing,” he chortled. “I’m sticking with this mighty fine ale.”
For a few minutes, silence reigned at the table as the group filled their plates and sampled their food.
“This is very different for you, Marinara.” Michael chewed slowly, savoring the tender grilled steak.
“There is a time for sushi,” Marinara explained, “but I can’t always be on the seafood diet.”
“This is wonderful,” Brull exclaimed. “I love this food. I love this charred yet tender protein. Marinara, you are indeed very talented.”
“There are grilled salmon steaks, too, Brull. The cedar plank imparts the sweet smokiness to the fish. It is one of Meryll’s favorites.”
“Yes, I plan to try all of it. I’m glad you made extra for me.”
Choc looked up from her salad. “Thank you, Marinara, for the vegetables and greens. What is this one again?”
Marinara pointed to each plate in turn. “Grilled asparagus. Grilled corn. Grilled peppers. Grilled onions. Grilled tomatoes.”
“My, it must keep you busy with all these dishes in one meal,” Choc said softly.
Meryll laughed. “Mari’s just putting this on for his guests. We usually eat quite simply with just a few pieces of sushi or sashimi and a salad.”
“Now that.” Brull burped. “I would like to try of yours, too. Raw seafood sounds delicious to me.”
Michael thought of the octopus tentacles and calamari that frequented their meals and ducked his head. Shrimp he could deal with, but squid! Especially when Marinara cut off its top and spinal column and set it to dance on the countertop with maniacal, mechanical laughter coming from his translator.
“Human food has many differences,” Choc said softly. “How can you keep it all straight?”
“Specialties,” Marinara said. His translator tone was kind, not quite like his customary lecture tone. “Figure out who you want to serve and plan your menus around them. If you want Human merc customers, find out what they want to eat on Karma. Maybe they only want burgers and pizza and steaks. And make sure you stock beer and ales. And Coke for Jim Cartwright. If you want business clients—traders and company owners—maybe you want a variety of higher-end dining, nice tables and tablecloths, quality dishes and wines. Market yourself to the kind of men or women who are closing business deals or courting new deals, or politicians looking to make their mark on the galaxy.”
“It is a lot to think about,” murmured Choc.
“I have thought very deeply about what I want. I want my own restaurant, or maybe several. I want my own Tri-V show, or maybe several. Then I will write a cookbook or three. The name Marinara will be known throughout the Galaxy as the best in fine Earth dining!”
The group broke into laughter, and Meryll clapped her hands together in glee. “And I will be your manager,” she exclaimed. She lifted her beer bottle and shouted, “To Marinara!” The others joined her and clinked bottles, shouting his name and “Hear! Hear!”
Marinara flashed embarrassment. Several arms patted the air. “Later, please, later.
We will celebrate later. I have plenty of time for all my accomplishments. Now, of course, it is time for dessert.” An arm reached onto the counter and retrieved a covered tray.
“Voilà! The pièce de résistance! Cookies!”
* * *
The cookies were good, and came in six different varieties of chocolate, vanilla, and peanut butter. Some were thin and crispy, some thick and chewy, some covered in nuts or gooey caramel. The group finished the tray of cookies, with Brull tucking some into a napkin for later as the conversation flowed. Eventually, Brull began yawning and excused himself, saying he had some last-minute case studies to read. Meryll stood up and began to collect plates and utensils. Choc gathered the bottles and glasses and took them to the kitchen for cleanup.
Marinara stared at the table, seemingly contented. “A good meal is one with no leftovers,” he said.
“Well, yeah.” Michael said. “Brull took care of that.”
“You know,” Meryll said from the kitchen. “Good chefs should know how to clean up their messes.”
“I have done so,” Marinara retorted. “I have set the solar grill to self-clean. There is just enough daylight left to finish that chore.”
Meryll sighed and finished loading the dish bin. Choc tapped on her slate twice and then called out, “My ride is here. I must go. Thank you so much for such a wonderful evening. I will see you tomorrow in class, Marinara. Michael, Meryll, I hope we can do this again. Maybe explore different foods.”
“Oh, yes,” Meryll agreed.
“I’ll walk you outside,” Michael replied. “Hand you off to your driver.” He closed the door behind them.
Meryll poured herself another glass of wine and sat at the table next to Marinara’s tank. “You’re quiet, Mari. Oh, what are you writing?”
“Just some notes.” Mari’s arms flew across the slate face.
“Recipes and stuff? What works? What doesn’t?” Meryll asked.
“Sure, that, too.” Marinara turned off his slate. “I like to keep notes on the people I meet. What their tastes are. What foods work for them. What foods aren’t good for them. It makes me better at my job.”
“At cooking? You’re such a wonderful chef already.”
“At cooking,” Marinara agreed. “Meryll, I must crack some books. I have some molecular gastronomy studies to review and have another long day tomorrow. I’m going to rest in my tank.”
“I understand,” she replied. “I have some business studies to go over. I should get to work, too. See you tomorrow, Marinara.”
* * * * *
Chapter Nine
It was Saturday morning, and Choc and Marinara were busy in the kitchen exploring baked goods. Marinara had learned about pastry cooking in his two years of classes on Azure and he had been sharing the experience with his friends over the last few weekends. Choc really seemed to enjoy this side of food preparation. Today they were practicing with layer cakes and different types of fillings.
Meryll laid her slate on the table and walked over to join them.
“Don’t be afraid to try seasonings and pairings that aren’t common, Choc, particularly in your layer cakes and sponges.”
“But how do I know if they work or not to create a great dessert? Green tea and fennel? Lavender blossoms and lemon zest?” Ch’c’lt had gained confidence under Marinara’s tutelage. She was more inclined to question things he told her than she had been in their first lessons.
“You won’t know until you try it and see their reaction,” Meryll said as she pinched off a bit of sponge cake and popped it in her mouth. Meryll’s face turned red and her eyes bugged as sweat popped out on her forehead. “Grggh…gah…water!” she gasped.
“There,” Marinara said. “Ghost pepper and cardamom may not be the best combination, but you may discover clients who favor a spicy or hot sponge or find one that goes well with a cool or sweet filling. Let’s set these cream fillings aside and check our fruit jams.”
Meryll grabbed a bottle of water and looked around the kitchen. Marinara and Choc had thin sponge cake layers laying around on every available surface. She and Michael were in for an afternoon of taste testing.
She made special note of the ghost pepper cake layer so she could avoid it, and looked over the other layers. Green, blue, and pink. One purple and one hideously saffron yellow layer that was probably not butter or lemon flavored. Oh, yes, there was a chocolate layer and one that looked like spice or pumpkin. Several layers had been pre-rolled for Swiss rolls. If she was lucky, she would get an apple-cinnamon filling on spice cake jelly roll to sample.
“Choc,” she called out. “Have you decided if you are staying longer or leaving at the end of the semester?”
The Jeha raised several of her arms in the air and flexed them nervously. Her speech was tentative. “My mother is saying I must come home when classes are finished. She says they have the funding for the restaurant and want me to get started. I asked to stay another year and learn more from Marinara, but she emphatically said no!”
Choc moved over to where Meryll was sitting and peered up at her. “I am so distraught, but I can’t disobey my family. My father says he wants me off Earth, and he’s not so sure this will be a Human restaurant now, but perhaps something more multi-Galactic. He thinks I need to think about other cuisines and not just Earth’s.”
“Choc,” Marinara said. “We need to put these cakes together now. I need your attention. Delay too long and our jams will turn to fruit leather and our delicate crèmes will begin to separate.”
Meryll arched an eyebrow at Marinara and looked puzzled. He in turn, rolled a turquoise eye at her and turned back to his several tasks. “I’ll tell Michael we need his expertise for the taste tests.” Meryll walked out the apartment door.
* * *
The baked goods were duly presented, and Marinara seemed calmer than he was an hour earlier. The cakes were lined up on the counters so that they could sample and note what they liked and didn’t like about the selections.
Her least favorite was the cake with alternating layers of ghost pepper and Kahlua-laced sponges with passion fruit and tiramisu layers topped with mascarpone icing. Her favorite, of course, was the chocolate layer cake stuffed with peanut butter, chocolate buttercream, and marshmallow layers, gilded with chocolate ganache.
Michael was simple in his tastes, preferring the lemon curd sponge with raspberry filling. He was more diplomatic with his notes on the ghost pepper cake. “Do cakes have Scoville ratings?” he asked. “I once heard of a habanero carrot cake, so there is definitely a consumer audience for something like this.”
Marinara went still, and Meryll could tell he was checking files with his pinplants. “Ah, there it is. I must definitely save this recipe. As a perfectionist I would need to make the hot pepper extract a month in advance rather than cheat with the chili sauce.”
As they helped themselves to seconds of their favorite cakes and lingered at the table, Marinara mentioned he hoped to get in a sushi session with Choc before she had to return home. “Of course, it takes years to become a certified master sushi chef,” he admitted, “but I have some tricks I want to teach you with eel and squid.”
“You are lucky you have no father or mother telling you what to do with your life,” Choc said sadly.
Marinara was silent and contemplative. “No, we don’t have fathers or mothers, but many of us grew up with Human school mates wishing we had families like they did. It is how I met Meryll. She had no father and a mother who was very busy. I had no father or mother, only the Wrogul from which I budded. Meryll and I chose to be brother and sister.”
Choc looked up curiously at the Wrogul hanging halfway out of his tank. “How do Wrogul procreate?” she asked.
“We don’t have genders, or sexes, but bud from another Wrogul, about once every ten years. When we bud, mature, and drop off, we have all the memories of past generations. For the first year, we stay with our bud group.
“A year after budding, the youn
g are independent and fully matured. We receive our pinplants in our first year. We can decide which interests or studies to pursue. I decided to stay and study locally, but not all did so. That’s how I met Meryll, in school classes. She was a little older than me.
“Our progenitor was Todd, whose wrecked ship entered the Azure system. He was recovered and returned to health, but he lost the memories of his past. We eventually learned that we are Wrogul.
“We are supposed to be identical to all other Wrogul, but that didn’t happen. Todd has green eyes, and I have turquoise eyes. Several of his buds have blue eyes. We also choose our own names in place of budding generation numbers. I am a fifth generation Azure Wrogul and chose to call myself Marinara.”
“Ask him why he named himself that,” prompted Meryll.
Michael turned and looked at the Wrogul, eyebrows raised.
“I knew early on that I loved cooking. I knew I wanted to be a master chef. When I was young, pasta with marinara was my favorite food.”
“I thought it was a family name.” Michael said. “Do you have family relationships?”
“Not really,” Marinara replied. “We know our progenitors and budlings. Some have disappeared—they just went out into the ocean to live. No one is forced to do anything, and each Wrogul is his own person. Some of us have joined mercenary units; one even joined the Peacemakers.”
Michael’s eyebrows rose higher.
“My grandfather, Harryhausen, joined the Peacemakers.”
“Harryhausen,” Michael repeated.
“Yes. As I said, we choose our own names. Most of us are enamored of the old Earth pop culture we watch on Azure. There is Nemo, who went into space as a scientist, and Wells who budded from Nemo. Verne who joined a mercenary unit. And my grandfather, Harryhausen. My own father was Ridley.”
“Such strange names,” said Choc.
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