The Galactic Gourmet

CHAPTER 5

Gurronsevas was feeling very proud of himself. He had met and spoken with all the members of his staff individually — and, when required, at length. His principal assistant, a Nidian called Sarnyagh-Sa, had required careful handling because it had been expecting to inherit the retiring Chief Dietitian’s position, but it was able, responsible, a little unresponsive to new ideas as yet, but showed long-term promise. Without ingratiation or implied diminution of his own authority or responsibility, Gurronsevas asked for the help of everyone. His intention was to be approachable by all levels of staff, provided the approach was not a waste of his time. He hoped that relations within other-species Catering would be pleasant and professional, but noted that the degree of the former would be strictly dependent upon the quality of the latter. The general response had been good, although a few of them had thought it strange that the Great Gurronsevas had worn maintenance coveralls during their interviews.

And after just five days of exploring the food supply maintenance tunnels with Timmins and just three half-days of anti-gravity sled driving instruction, the Lieutenant had told him that he need no longer travel on foot or with company. On the sixth day he had driven an unloaded sled from the synthesizer complex under Level Eighteen to the short-term storage facility on Thirty-one, using only the service tunnels and without having to request a navigational fix, in just twenty-four standard minutes without hitting anyone or anything — at least, not hard enough for a written report to be necessary.

Timmins had told him that he was doing exceptionally well for a beginner, and now Gurronsevas was trying hard not to allow his feelings of pride and pleasure to be destroyed by the ill-mannered, acid-tongued, chlorine-breathing Illensan he currently faced.

“When we need one of you people quickly,” said Charge Nurse Hredlichli, “it seems that the maintenance sub-species suddenly becomes extinct; and when we don’t want you, you clutter up the place. What is it you want?”

Since the Cromingan-Shesk had not catered for chlorine-breathers, it was the first time he had seen one of the PVSJ classification at close range. The Illensan’s spiny, membranous body resembled a haphazard collection of oily, unhealthy vegetation that was partially obscured by the yellow mist of chlorine inside the entity’s protective envelope, and Gurronsevas found himself wishing that the fog had been denser. Hredlichli was drifting motionless in the water-filled Nurses’ Station in front of a patient-monitor screen. He had not been able to locate its eyes amid the tangle of head-fronds, but presumably the Charge Nurse was looking at him.

“I am Chief Dietitian Gurronsevas, Charge Nurse, not a maintenance technician,” he said, making a great effort to be polite. “With your help I would like to interview one or more of your patients regarding the ward food supply, with a view to making improvements. Could you suggest the name of one that I can talk to without interrupting its medical treatment?”

“I could not suggest a name,” said Hredlichli, “because our patients do not give them. On Chalderescol a person’s name is known only to close members of its family and is otherwise given only to its intended life-mate. Here they are known by their medical filenames. AUGL One-Thirteen is convalescent and unlikely to be seriously stressed by a lot of stupid questions, so you may talk to it. Nurse Towan!”

A voice from the communicator, faintly distorted by the intervening watery medium, said, “Yes, Charge Nurse.”

“When you finish changing One-Twenty-Two’s dressings,” said Hredlichli, “please ask One-Thirteen to come to the Nurses’ Station. It has a visitor.” To Gurronsevas it went on, “In case you don’t know, a Chalder won’t fit in here without wrecking the place. Wait outside.”

The ward was probably smaller than it looked, Gurronsevas thought as he awaited the arrival of AUGL-113, but size and distance were hard to judge in this dim, green world where the difference between the shadowy inhabitants, their medical equipment, and the decorative vegetation designed to make them feel at home was difficult to define. Timmins had told him that some of the plants were living rather than artificial, a species that gave off a water-borne aromatic which the patients found pleasant, and that it was Maintenance Department’s responsibility to see that the foliage stayed healthy no matter what happened to the patients. Sometimes it was difficult to know when the Lieutenant was being serious. It had also told him that the natives of the ocean world of Chalderescol embarrassed easily and were the most visually fearsome beings that he was ever likely to meet.

That, Gurronsevas thought as he watched the enormous, tentacled, torpedo shape that was speeding silently towards him, he could believe.

The creature was like an enormous armored fish with a heavy, knife-edged tail, a seemingly haphazard arrangement of stubby fins, and, around its waist, a thick ring of tentacles projecting through some of the only openings visible in its organic armor. The tentacles lay flat against its body while it was moving forward, but they were long enough to reach forward past the thick, blunt wedge of its head. As it swam closer and began to circle him, one of its tiny, lidless eyes regarded him. It drifted to a halt and its waist tentacles fanned forward to hang in a great, undulating circle around it. Suddenly the mouth opened to reveal a vast, pink cavern edged with the largest, whitest, sharpest teeth Gurronsevas had ever seen.

“Are, are you my visitor?” it asked shyly.

Gurronsevas hesitated, wondering whether or not he should introduce himself. A member of a culture which did not use names other than among family or loved ones might feel embarrassment if he should use his. He should have remembered to ask the Charge Nurse about that.

“Yes,” he said finally. “If you have nothing more important to do and will allow it, I would like to talk to you about Chalder food.”

“With pleasure,” said AUGL-113. “It is an interesting topic that causes much argument but rarely leads to violence.”

“About hospital food,” said Gurronsevas.

“Oh,” said the Chalder.

He did not have to be a Cinrusskin empath to sense the deep criticism implied by that single word. He said quickly, “It is my intention, in fact I have accepted it as a personal and professional challenge, to improve the quality, taste and presentation of the synthetic food provided by the hospital to its many life-forms. Before any improvement is possible I must know in what way or ways the present synthesized diets, which to me seem little more than near-tasteless organic fuel, fall short of the ideal. The work has just begun, and you are the first patient to be interviewed.”

The cavernous mouth closed slowly then opened again. The patient said, “A laudable ambition, but surely unattainable? I must remember your phrase, tasteless organic fuel. Using it to a host on Chalder would be the ultimate culinary insult, because there we take our food seriously, and often in excess. What can I tell you?”

“Practically everything,” said Gurronsevas gratefully, “because my ignorance regarding Chalder food is total. What edible animal and vegetable varieties are there? How are they prepared, presented and served? On the majority of worlds the methods of presentation stimulates the taste sensors and adds much to the enjoyment. Is it so on Chalderescol? What spices, sauces or condiments are used? And the concept of a culinary spectrum which is comprised of only cold dishes is completely new to me …”

“Being ocean-dwelling water-breathers,” One-Thirteen broke in gently, “our people were late in discovering fire.”

“Of course, I’m stupid not to have …” Gurronsevas began when the voice of Hredlichli interrupted both of them.

“Whether or not you are stupid is not for me to say,” it called from the entrance to the Nurses’ Station. “At least, not out loud. It is time for our mid-day meal and the patients are hungry and, with the exception of the one you are talking to, are on special diets and require nursing assistance during feeding. So make yourself useful: draw One-Thirteen’s rations and let the poor thing eat while you talk.”

He followed Hredlichli into the Nurses’ Station, thinking how strange it was that the unpleasant Charge Nurse was telling him to do exactly what he himself would have wished to do. But before he could follow the thought to its incredible conclusion — that Hredlichli might not be as unpleasant as it seemed — the food delivery chute started spitting out large, brown-and-grey mottled globes into a waiting carrying net. When the net was full he towed it out to One-Thirteen.

“Keep your distance and push them at it one at a time,” Hredlichli called after him. “You don’t want to become part of the meal.”

Two Kelgian nurses, their fur rippling in dimly-lit silver waves inside their transparent protective suits, and a water-breathing Creppelian octopoid who needed no protection, passed him on their way in.

“What are they, eggs?” Gurronsevas asked as he pushed them one by one towards the patient’s open and waiting mouth. One-Thirteen’s jaws closed much too quickly for him to be able to see whether the material was soft and surrounded by a hard, uneven shell, or solid all the way through. His curiosity remained unsatisfied until the last of the objects had disappeared into the vast jaws and the patient’s mouth was again free for speech.

“Are you getting enough to eat?” he said. “Relative to your body mass, the meal portions appear, well, meager.”

“My tardiness in replying,” the patient replied, “should not be taken as an impoliteness. On Chalderescol the ingestion of food is an important and pleasurable activity, and to converse while eating is considered to be an implied criticism of one’s host for allowing a guest to become bored with what is being provided. Even here, where the food is open to serious criticism, the habit of good manners remains.”

“I understand,” said Gurronsevas.

“To answer your questions,” Patient One-Thirteen went on, “the food objects resemble but are not eggs, although they have a hard, edible outer shell enclosing a quantity of concentrated nutritious fibre, synthetic, of course, which expands to many times its original volume when exposed to our digestive juices, thus giving a feeling of physical repletion. As a species we Chalders have an educated palate, and well do we know that hunger makes the most effective sauce, but the taste of these food objects is artificial and unsubtle and …to describe them more fully my language would of necessity become impolite.”

“Again I understand,” said Gurronsevas. “But can you describe the differences in appearance and consistency, as well as the taste, between the natural and synthetic varieties? You will not offend me by using impolite language to describe foul-tasting or badly-prepared food because I have been doing so to my kitchen staff for a great many years …”

Patient One-Thirteen began by saying that it did not want to sound ungrateful to the hospital because the treatment it had received had, after all, saved its life. Medical and surgical wonders had been performed in the crowded and claustrophobic, to an AUGL, confines of the ward, and to complain about the food being unappetizing seemed petty under the circumstances. But on its home world there was space in which to eat, and to exercise, and to sharpen the taste sensors with expectancy and uncertainty by having to chase certain varieties of food which were not easily caught.

On the ocean world of Chalderescol, in spite of the civilizing influences of many centuries, the Chalders still felt a physiological as well as an aesthetic need to chase their food rather than have it served dead and, so far as their instincts were concerned, in the early stages of decomposition on a platter. To remain physically healthy they needed to exercise their jaws and teeth and massive, armored bodies, and the time of maximum effort and enjoyment, except for the brief period every year when they were able to procreate, was when they were eating.

The hospital food was hard-shelled enough and undoubtedly nutritious, but the contents were a soft, tasteless, disgusting pap that resembled the partially pre-digested and newly-dead material given to toothless AUGL infants. Unless immobilized by serious illness or injury, an adult Chalder was forced to concentrate its mind on other and more pleasant things if it was to avoid nausea while eating the vile stuff.

Gurronsevas listened attentively to AUGL-113’s every word, occasionally asking for clarification or offering suggestions, but always remembering to make due allowance for creative exaggeration on the part of a patient who was obviously pleased at having someone new at whom it could complain. But the constant discussion of food in its many unpalatable forms, to a Chalder, was reminding Gurronsevas that it had been four hours since he himself had dined.

“If I may interrupt you to summarize the problem,” said Gurronsevas when the other began repeating itself with only minor variations. “First, there is the shape and consistency of the food, which is inadequate in that it exercises only the jaws and teeth. Second, the taste is unsatisfactory because it is artificially produced with chemical additives and, to the discriminating palate of the Chalder, any such substitution is immediately detectable. And third, the water-borne odors which the real food animals emit when they are being chased are not present.

“In my recent study of similar problems as they relate to other life-forms in the hospital,” Gurronsevas went on, “I have discovered that the ward menu is under the control of the clinical dietitian, who acts under the direction of the physician-in-charge, rather than being the responsibility of the food technicians. Rightly, the primary concern of the physician concerned is to prescribe food that supports the clinical needs of its patient and is an extension of its medical treatment, so that the taste and odor have a low order of priority — if, indeed, they are considered at all. But it is my belief that they should be considered, and seriously, if only for the psychologically beneficial effects on convalescent patients like yourself who should be encouraged to eat and exercise.

“Regrettably,” he went on, enthusiasm for his subject dulling the pangs of personal hunger, “there is little I can do about taste and texture, at least not until I have had consultations with your physician-in-charge and the relevant food synthesists. But as a general rule most varieties of food can be made to seem more appetizing by varying its manner of presentation. An interesting combination of colors, for example, or an imaginative shaping and arrangement of food on the platter so that there is a visual appeal as well as …”

Gurronsevas broke off in mid-sentence, remembering that patient AUGL-113 did not use a platter and that the principal visual attraction of the food would be its ability to go scuttling all over the dining area. But his embarrassment was short-lived because Hredlichli had emerged from the nurses’ station and was swimming quickly towards them.

“I must interrupt this excessively long and, to me, less than interesting conversation,” said the Charge Nurse as it drifted to a halt between the patient and himself. “Senior Physician Edanelt is due to make its evening rounds. Please return to your sleeping frame, One-Thirteen. And Dietitian Gurronsevas, if you wish to continue the discussion you will have to wait until Edanelt has completed its ward rounds. Shall I contact you then?”

“Thank you, no,” he replied. “Patient One-Thirteen has given me some very useful information. I am grateful to both of you, and hopefully I shall not need to return until I have been able to make a positive improvement in the AUGL ward diet.”

“I will believe that,” said Charge Nurse Hredlichli, “when I see it.”