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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #51597 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51597)
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gourmet, by Allen Kim Lang
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
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-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: Gourmet
-
-Author: Allen Kim Lang
-
-Release Date: March 29, 2016 [EBook #51597]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOURMET ***
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-
-                                GOURMET
-
-                           By ALLEN KIM LANG
-
-           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
-                      Galaxy Magazine April 1962.
-         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
-         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
-
-
-
-
-                  This was the endless problem of all
-                spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men
-                tomorrow on what they had eaten today!
-
-
-Unable to get out to the ballgame and a long way off from the girls,
-men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It's
-true that Woman remains a topic of thoughtful study, but discussion
-can never replace practice in an art. Food, on the other hand, is a
-challenge shipmen face three times a day, so central to their thoughts
-that a history of sea-faring can be read from a commissary list.
-
-In the days when salt-sea sailors were charting islands and spearing
-seals, for example, the fo'c's'le hands called themselves Lobscousers,
-celebrating the liquid hash then prominent in the marine menu. The
-Limey sailor got the name of the anti-scorbutic citrus squeezed into
-his diet, a fruit known to us mariners of a more sophisticated age
-only as garnish for our groundside gin-and-tonic. And today we Marsmen
-are called Slimeheads, honoring in our title the _Chlorella_ and
-_Scenedesmus_ algae that, by filling up the spaces within, open the
-road to the larger Space without.
-
-Should any groundsman dispute the importance of belly-furniture in
-history--whether it be exterminating whales, or introducing syphilis
-to the Fiji Islanders, or settling the Australian littoral with
-cross-coves from Middlesex and Hampshire--he is referred to the
-hundred-and-first chapter of _Moby Dick_, a book spooled in the
-amusement tanks of all but the smallest spacers. I trust, however, that
-no Marsman will undertake to review this inventory of refreshment more
-than a week from groundfall. A catalogue of sides of beef and heads of
-Leyden cheese and ankers of good Geneva would prove heavy reading for a
-man condemned to snack on the Chlorella-spawn of cis-Martian space.
-
-The _Pequod's_ crew ate wormy biscuit and salt beef. Nimitz's men won
-their war on canned pork and beans. The _Triton_ made her underwater
-periplus of Earth with a galley stocked with frozen pizza and
-concentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for the
-skies, a decline set in.
-
-The first amenity of groundside existence to be abandoned was decent
-food. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezings
-from aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to the
-groundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Long before I was a boy in Med School, itching to look at black sky
-through a view-port, galley science had fulfilled the disgusting
-exordium of _Isaiah_ 36:12, to feed the Slimeheads for breakfast today
-what was day-before-yesterday's table-scraps and jakes-water.
-
-The Ship's Cook, the man who accomplishes the daily miracle of turning
-offal into eatables, is in many ways the most vital man aboard a
-spacer. He can make morale or foment a mutiny. His power is paramount.
-Slimeheads remember the H. M. S. _Ajax_ fiasco, for example, in which a
-galleyman leveled his Chlorella tanks with heavy water from the ship's
-shielding. Four officers and twenty-one Other Ranks were rescued from
-the _Ajax_ in deep space, half dead from deuterium poisoning. We think
-of the _Benjo Maru_ incident, too, caused by a Ship's Cook who allowed
-his algaeal staff-of-life to become contaminated with a fast-growing
-_Saccharomycodes_ yeast. The Japanese vessel staggered to her pad at
-Piano West after a twenty-week drunk: the alien yeast had got into
-the stomach of every man aboard, where it fermented each subsequent
-bite he ate to a superior grade of _sake_. And for a third footnote to
-the ancient observation, "God sends food, and the Devil sends cooks,"
-Marsmen will recall what happened aboard my ship the _Charles Partlow
-Sale_.
-
-The _Sale_ blasted off from Brady Station in the middle of August, due
-in at Piano West in early May. In no special hurry, we were taking
-the low-energy route to Mars, a pathway about as long in time as the
-human period of gestation. Our cargo consisted mostly of Tien-Shen fir
-seedlings and some tons of an arctic grass-seed--these to be planted
-in the _maria_ to squeeze out the native blue bugberry vines. We had
-aboard the Registry minimum of six men and three officers. Ship's
-Surgeon was myself, Paul Vilanova. Our Captain was Willy Winkelmann,
-the hardest man in space and very likely the fattest. Ship's Cook was
-Robert Bailey.
-
-Cooking aboard a spacer is a job combining the more frustrating
-tensions of biochemistry, applied mycology, high-speed farming,
-dietetics and sewage engineering. It's the Cook's responsibility to
-see that each man aboard gets each day no less than five pounds of
-water, two pounds of oxygen, and one-and-a-half pounds of dry food.
-This isn't just a paragraph from the Spacer Union Contract. It's a
-statement of the least fuel a man can run on.
-
-Twelve tons of water, oxygen, and food would have filled the cargo
-compartments to bursting, and left a small ship like the _C. P. Sale_
-no reason to reach for Mars. By allowing a colony of Chlorella algae to
-work over our used air, water and other effluvia, though, three tons
-of metabolites would see us through from Brady Station to Piano West
-and back. Recycling was the answer. The molecule of carbohydrate, fat,
-protein or mineral that didn't feed the crew fed the algae. And the
-algae fed us.
-
-All waste was used to fertilize our liquid fields. Even the stubble
-from our 2,680 shaves and the clippings from our 666 haircuts en route
-and back would be fed into the Chlorella tanks. Human hair is rich in
-essential amino acids.
-
-The algae--dried by the Cook, bleached with methyl alcohol to kill the
-smell and make the residue more digestible, disguised and seasoned in a
-hundred ways--served as a sort of meat-and-potatoes that never quite
-wore out. Our air and water were equally immortal. Each molecule of
-oxygen would be conversant with the alveoli of every man aboard by the
-end of our trip. Every drop of water would have been intimate with the
-glomeruli of each kidney on the ship before we grounded in. Groundling
-politicians are right enough when they say that we spacers are a
-breed apart. We're the one race of men who can't afford the luxury of
-squeamishness.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Though I'm signed aboard as Ship's Surgeon, I seldom lift a knife
-in space. My employment is more in the nature of TS-card-puncher
-extraordinary. My duties are to serve as wailing-wall, morale officer,
-guardian of the medicinal whiskey and frustrator of mutual murder.
-Generally the man aboard who'd serve as the most popular murder-victim
-is the Cook. This trip, the-man-you-love-to-hate was our Captain.
-
-If the Cook hadn't problems enough with the chemical and psychic duties
-of his office, Winkelmann supplied the want. Captain Willy Winkelmann
-was the sort of man who, if he had to go into space at all, had best do
-so alone. If the Prussians had a Marine Corps, Winkelmann would have
-done splendidly as Drill Instructor for their boot camp. His heart
-was a chip of helium ice, his voice dripped sarcastic acid. The planet
-Earth was hardly large enough to accommodate a wart as annoying as
-Willy Winkelmann. Cheek-by-jowl every day in a nacelle the size of a
-Pullman car, our Captain quickly established himself as a major social
-hemorrhoid.
-
-The Captain's particular patsy was, of course, young Bailey the Cook.
-It was Winkelmann who saw humorous possibilities in the entry, "Bailey,
-Robert," on Ship's Articles. He at once renamed our unfortunate
-shipmate "Belly-Robber." It was Winkelmann who discussed _haut
-cuisine_ and the properties of the nobler wines while we munched our
-algaeburgers and sipped coffee that tasted of utility water. And it was
-Captain Willy Winkelmann who never referred to the ship's head by any
-other name than The Kitchen Cabinet.
-
-Bailey tried to feed us by groundside standards. He hid the taste
-of synthetic methionine--an essential amino acid not synthesized by
-Chlorella--by seasoning our algaeal repasts with pinches of oregano
-and thyme. He tinted the pale-green dollops of pressed Chlorella pink,
-textured the mass to the consistency of hamburger and toasted the
-slabs to a delicate brown in a forlorn attempt to make mock-meat.
-For dessert, he served a fudge compounded from the dextrose-paste of
-the carbohydrate recycler. The crew thanked him. The Captain did not.
-"Belly-Robber," he said, his tone icy as winter wind off the North Sea,
-"you had best cycle this mess through the tanks again. There is a pun
-in my home country: _Mensch ist was er isst._ It means, you are what
-you eat. I think you are impertinent to suggest I should become this
-_Schweinerei_ you are feeding me." Captain Winkelmann blotted his chin
-with his napkin, heaved his bulk up from the table, and climbed up the
-ladder from the dining-cubby.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-"Doc, do you like Winkelmann?" the Cook asked me.
-
-"Not much," I said. "I suspect that the finest gift our Captain can
-give his mother is to be absent from her on Mother's Day. But we've got
-to live with him. He's a good man at driving a ship."
-
-"I wish he'd leave off driving this Cook," Bailey said. "The fat swine!"
-
-"His plumpness is an unwitting tribute to your cooking, Bailey," I
-said. "He eats well. We all do. I've dined aboard a lot of spacers in
-my time, and I'll testify that you set a table second to none."
-
-Bailey took a handful of dried Chlorella from a bin and fingered it. It
-was green, smelled of swamp, and looked appetizing as a bedsore. "This
-is what I have to work with," he said. He tossed the stuff back into
-its bin. "In Ohio, which is my home country, in the presence of ladies,
-we'd call such garbage Horse-Leavings."
-
-"You'll never make Winkelmann happy," I said. "Even the simultaneous
-death of all other human beings could hardly make him smile. Keep up
-the good work, though, and you'll keep our Captain fat."
-
-Bailey nodded from his one-man cloud of gloom. I got a bottle of rye
-from Medical Stores and offered him a therapeutic draught. The Cook
-waved my gift aside. "Not now, Doc," he said. "I'm thinking about
-tomorrow's menu."
-
-The product of Bailey's cerebrations was on the mess table at noon the
-next day. We were each served an individual head of lettuce, dressed
-with something very like vinegar and oil, spiced with tiny leaves of
-burnet. How Bailey had constructed those synthetic lettuces I can only
-guess: the hours spent preparing a green Chlorella paste, rolling and
-drying and shaping each artificial leaf, the fitting together of nine
-heads like crisp, three-dimensional jigsaw puzzles. The _pièce de
-résistance_ was again a "hamburger steak;" but this time the algaeal
-mass that made it up was buried in a rich, meaty gravy that was only
-faintly green. The essence-of-steak used in these Chlorella cutlets had
-been sprinkled with a lavish hand. Garlic was richly in evidence. "It's
-so tender," the radioman joked, "that I can hardly believe it's really
-steak."
-
-Bailey stared across the dining-cubby toward Winkelmann, silently
-imploring the Captain's ratification of his masterpiece. The big
-man's pink cheeks bulged and jumped with his chewing. He swallowed.
-"Belly-Robber," Winkelmann said, "I had almost rather you served me
-this pond-scum raw than have it all mucked-up with synthetic onions and
-cycler-salt."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-"You seem able enough to choke down Bailey's chow, Captain," I said. I
-gazed at Winkelmann's form, bulbous from a lifetime of surfeit feeding.
-
-"Yes, I eat it," the Captain said, taking and talking through another
-bite. "But I eat only as a man in the desert will eat worms and
-grasshoppers, to stay alive."
-
-"Sir, what in heaven's name do you expect from me?" Bailey pleaded.
-
-"Only good food," Winkelmann mumbled through his mouthful of disguised
-algae. He tapped his head with a finger. "This--the brain that guides
-the ship--cannot be coaxed to work on hog-slop. You understand me,
-Belly-Robber?"
-
-Bailey, his hands fisted at his sides, nodded. "Yes, sir. But I really
-don't know what I can do to please you."
-
-"You are a spacer and a Ship's Cook, not a suburban _Hausfrau_ with the
-vapors," Winkelmann said. "I do not expect from you hysterics, tantrums
-or weeping. Only--can you understand this, so simple?--food that will
-keep my belly content and my brain alive."
-
-"Yes, sir," Bailey said, his face a picture of that offense the British
-term Dumb Insolence.
-
-Winkelmann got up and climbed the ladder to the pilot-cubicle. I
-followed him. "Captain," I said, "you're driving Bailey too hard.
-You're asking him to make bricks without straw."
-
-Winkelmann regarded me with his pale-blue stare. "You think, Doctor,
-that my cruelty to the Belly-Robber is the biliousness of a middle-aged
-man?"
-
-"Frankly, I can't understand your attitude at all," I said.
-
-"You accuse me of driving a man to make bricks without straw,"
-Winkelmann said. "Very well, Doctor. It is my belief that if the
-Pharaoh's taskmaster had had my firmness of purpose, the Children of
-Israel would have made bricks with stubble. Necessity, Doctor, is the
-mother of invention. I am Bailey's necessity. My unkindnesses make him
-uncomfortable, I doubt that not. But I am forcing him to experiment,
-to improvise, to widen the horizons of his ingenuity. He will learn
-somehow to bring good food from Chlorella tanks."
-
-"You're driving him too hard, Sir," I said. "He'll crack."
-
-"Bailey will have some fifty thousand dollars' salary waiting when we
-ground at Brady Station," Captain Winkelmann said. "So much money buys
-many discomforts. That will be all, Doctor Vilanova."
-
-"Crew morale on the ship...." I began.
-
-"That will be all, Doctor Vilanova," Captain Winkelmann repeated.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Bailey grew more silent as we threaded our way along the elliptical
-path to Mars. Each meal he prepared was a fresh attempt to propitiate
-the appetite of our splenetic Captain. Each such offering was condemned
-by that heartless man. Bailey began to try avoiding the Captain at
-mealtimes, but was frustrated by Winkelmann's orders. "Convey my
-compliments to the Chef, please," the Captain would instruct one of
-the crew, "and ask him to step down here a moment." And the Cook would
-cheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary genius
-acidly called in question again.
-
-I myself do not doubt that Bailey was the finest Cook ever to go
-into Hohmann orbit. His every meal established a higher benchmark in
-brilliant galleymanship. We were served, for instance, an _ersatz_ hot
-turkey supreme. The cheese-sauce was almost believable, the Chlorella
-turkey-flesh was white and tender. Bailey served with this delicacy
-a grainy and delicious "cornbread," and had extracted from his algae
-a lipid butter-substitute that soaked into the hot "bread" with a
-genuinely dairy smell. "Splendid, Bailey," I said.
-
-"We are not amused," said Captain Winkelmann, accepting a second
-helping of the pseudo-turkey. "You are improving, Belly-Robber, but
-only arithmetically. Your first efforts were so hideous as to require
-a geometric progression of improving excellence to raise them to mere
-edibility. By the time we are halfway 'round the Sun, I trust you will
-have learned to cook with the competence of a freshman Home Economics
-student. That will be all, Bailey."
-
-The crew and my fellow-officers were amused by Winkelmann's riding of
-Bailey; they were in addition gratified that the battle between their
-Captain and their Cook served to feed them so well. Most spacers embark
-on an outward voyage somewhat plump, having eaten enough on their last
-few days aground to smuggle several hundred calories of fat and many
-memories of good food aboard with them. This trip, none of the men had
-lost weight during the first four months in space. Winkelmann, indeed,
-seemed to have gained. His uniform was taut over his plump backside,
-and he puffed a bit up the ladders. I was considering suggesting to our
-Captain that he curtail his diet for reasons of health, a bit of advice
-that would have stood unique in the annals of space medicine, when
-Winkelmann produced his supreme insult to our Cook.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Each man aboard a spacer is allowed ten kilograms of personal effects
-besides his uniforms, these being considered Ship's Furnishing. As
-his rank and responsibility merit, the Captain is allowed double this
-ration. He may thus bring aboard with him some forty-five pounds of
-books, playing-cards, knitting-wool, whiskey or what have you to help
-him while away the hours between the planets. Bailey, I knew for a
-fact, had used up his weight-allowance in bringing aboard a case of
-spices: marjoram and mint, costmary, file powder, basil and allspice,
-and a dozen others.
-
-Captain Winkelmann was not a reader, and had brought no books. Cards
-interested him not at all, as card-playing implies a sociability alien
-to his nature. He never drank aboard ship. I had supposed that he'd
-exercised his option of returning his personal-effects weight allowance
-to the owners for the consideration of one hundred dollars a kilogram.
-To collect the maximum allowance, spacers have been known to come
-aboard their ship mother-naked.
-
-But this was not the case with Winkelmann. His personal-effects
-baggage, an unlabeled cardboard box, appeared under the table at noon
-mess some hundred days out from Piano West. Winkelmann rested his feet
-on the mysterious box as he sat to eat.
-
-"What disgusting form does the ship's garbage appear in today,
-Belly-Robber?" he asked the Cook.
-
-Bailey frowned, but kept his temper, an asceticism in which by now he'd
-had much practice. "I've been working on the problem of steak, Sir,"
-he said. "I think I've whipped the taste; what was left was to get the
-texture steak-like. Do you understand, Sir?"
-
-"I understand," Winkelmann growled. "You intend that your latest mess
-should feel like steak to the mouth, and not like baby-food. Right?"
-
-"Yes, Sir," Bailey said. "Well, I squeezed the
-steak-substrate--Chlorella, of course, with all sorts of special
-seasonings--through a sieve, and blanched the strands in hot algaeal
-oil. Then I chopped those strands to bits and rolled them out. _Voila!_
-I had something very close in texture to the muscle-fibers of genuine
-meat."
-
-"Remarkable, Bailey," I said.
-
-"It rather throws me off my appetite to hear how you muddle about with
-our food," the Captain said, his jowls settling into an expression of
-distaste. "It's quite all right to eat lobster, for example, but I
-never cared to see the ugly beast boiled before my eyes. Detail spoils
-the meal."
-
-Bailey lifted the cover off the electric warming-pan at the center of
-the table and tenderly lifted a small "steak" onto each of our plates.
-"Try it," he urged the Captain.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Captain Winkelmann sliced off a corner of his algaeal steak. The
-color was an excellent medium-rare, the odor was the rich smell
-of fresh-broiled beef. Winkelmann bit down, chewed, swallowed. "Not
-too bad, Belly-Robber," he said, nodding. Bailey grinned and bobbed
-his head, his hands folded before him in an ecstasy of pleasure. A
-kind word from the Captain bettered the ruffles-and-flourishes of a
-more reasonable man. "But it still needs something ... something,"
-Winkelmann went on, slicing off another portion of the tasty Chlorella.
-"Aha! I have it!"
-
-"Yes, Sir?" Bailey asked.
-
-"This, Belly-Robber!" Winkelmann reached beneath the mess-table and
-ripped open his cardboard carton. He brought out a bottle and unscrewed
-the cap. "Ketchup," he said, splattering the red juice over Bailey's
-masterpiece. "The scarlet burial-shroud for the failures of Cooks."
-Lifting a hunk of the "steak," streaming ketchup, to his mouth,
-Winkelmann chewed. "Just the thing," he smiled.
-
-"Damn you!" Bailey shouted.
-
-Winkelmann's smile flicked off, and his blue eyes pierced the Cook.
-
-"... Sir," Bailey added.
-
-"That's better," Winkelmann said, and took another bite. He said
-meditatively, "Used with caution, and only by myself, I believe I have
-sufficient ketchup here to see me through to Mars. Please keep a
-bottle on the table for all my future meals, Belly-Robber."
-
-"But, Sir...." Bailey began.
-
-"You must realize, Belly-Robber, that a dyspeptic Captain is a threat
-to the welfare of his ship. Were I to continue eating your surrealistic
-slops for another hundred days, without the small consolation of
-this sauce I had the foresight to bring with me, I'd likely be in
-no condition to jet us safely down to the Piano West pad. Do you
-understand, Belly-Robber?" he demanded.
-
-"I understand that you're an ungrateful, impossible, square-headed,
-slave-driving...."
-
-"Watch your noun," Winkelmann cautioned the Cook. "Your adjectives are
-insubordinate; your noun might prove mutinous."
-
-"Captain, you've gone too far," I said. Bailey, his fists knotted, was
-scarlet, his chest heaving with emotion.
-
-"Doctor, I must point out to you that it ill behooves the Ship's
-Surgeon to side with the Cook against the Captain," Winkelmann said.
-
-"Sir, Bailey has tried hard to please you," I said. "The other officers
-and the men have been more than satisfied with his work."
-
-"That only suggests atrophy of their taste buds," Winkelmann said.
-"Doctor, you are excused. As are you, Belly-Robber," he added.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Bailey and I climbed from the mess compartment together. I steered him
-to my quarters, where the medical supplies were stored. He sat on my
-bunk and exploded into weeping, banging his fists against the metal
-bulkhead. "You'll have that drink now," I said.
-
-"No, dammit!" he shouted.
-
-"Orders," I said. I poured us each some fifty cc's of rye. "This is
-therapy, Bailey," I told him. He poured the fiery stuff down his throat
-like water and silently held out his glass for a second. I provided it.
-
-After a few minutes Bailey's sobbing ceased. "Sorry, Doc," he said.
-
-"You've taken more pressure than most men would," I said. "Nothing to
-be ashamed of."
-
-"He's crazy. What sane man would expect me to dip Wiener schnitzel
-and sauerkraut and _Backhahndl nach suddeutscher Art_ out of an algae
-tank? I've got nothing but microscopic weeds to cook for him! Worn-out
-molecules reclaimed from the head; packaged amino acid additives. And
-he expects meals that would take the blue ribbon at the annual banquet
-of the Friends of Escoffier!"
-
-"Yours is an ancient plaint, Bailey," I said. "You've worked your
-fingers to the bone, slaving over a hot stove, and you're not
-appreciated. But you're not married to Winkelmann, remember. A year
-from now you'll be home in Ohio, fifty grand richer, set to start that
-restaurant of yours and forget about our fat Flying Dutchman."
-
-"I hate him," Bailey said with the simplicity of true emotion. He
-reached for the bottle. I let him have it. Sometimes alcohol can be
-an apt confederate of _vis medicatrix naturae_, the healing power of
-nature. Half an hour later I strapped Bailey into his bunk to sleep it
-off. That therapeutic drunk seemed to be just what he'd needed.
-
-For morning mess the next day we had a broth remarkable in
-horribleness, a pottage or boiled _Chlorella vulgaris_ that looked
-and tasted like the vomit of some bottom-feeding sea-beast. Bailey,
-red-eyed and a-tremble, made no apology, and stared at Winkelmann as
-though daring him to comment. The Captain lifted a spoonful of the
-disgusting stuff to his lips, smacked and said, "Belly-Robber, you're
-improving a little at last."
-
-Bailey nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Sir," he said.
-
-I smiled, too. Bailey had conquered himself. His psychic defenses were
-now strong enough to withstand the Captain's fiercest assaults of
-irony. Our food would likely be bad the rest of this trip, but that was
-a price I was willing to pay for seeing destroyed the Willy Winkelmann
-theory of forcing a Cook to make bricks without straw. The Captain
-had pushed too hard. He'd need that ketchup for the meals to come, I
-thought.
-
-Noon mess was nearly as awful as breakfast had been. The coffee tasted
-of salt, and went largely undrunk. The men in the mess compartment were
-vehement in their protests, blaming the Captain, in his absence, for
-the decline in culinary standards. Bailey seemed not to care. He served
-the algaeburgers with half a mind, and hurried back into his galley
-oblivious of the taunts of his crewmates.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-There being only three seats in the _Sale's_ mess compartment, we ate
-our meals in three shifts. That evening, going down the ladder to
-supper, my nose was met with a spine-tingling barbecue tang, a smell
-to make a man think of gray charcoal glowing in a picnic brazier,
-of cicadas chirping and green grass underfoot, of the pop and hiss
-of canned beer being church-keyed. "He's done it, Doc!" one of the
-first-shift diners said. "It actually tastes of food!"
-
-"Then he's beat the Captain at his game," I said.
-
-"The Dutchman won't want to mess ketchup on these steaks," the crewman
-said.
-
-I sat, unfolded my napkin, and looked with hope to the electric
-warming-pan at the center of the table. Bailey served the three of
-us with the small "steaks." Each contained about a pound of dried
-Chlorella, I judged, teasing mine with my fork. But they were drenched
-in a gravy rich as the stuff grandma used to make in her black iron
-skillet, peppery and seasoned with courageous bits of garlic. I cut
-a bit from my steak and chewed it. Too tender, of course; there are
-limits to art. But the pond-scum taste was gone. Bailey appeared in the
-galley door. I gestured for him to join me. "You've done it, Bailey,"
-I said. "Every Slimehead in orbit will thank you for this. This is
-actually _good_."
-
-"Thanks, Doc," Bailey said.
-
-I smiled and took another bite. "You may not realize it, Bailey; but
-this is a victory for the Captain, too. He drove you to this triumph;
-you couldn't have done it without him."
-
-"You mean he was just whipping me on, trying to make me do better?"
-Bailey asked.
-
-"He was driving you to do the impossible," I said; "and you did it. Our
-Captain may be a hard man, Bailey; but he did know how to coax maximum
-performance out of his Ship's Cook."
-
-Bailey stood up. "Do you like Captain Winkelmann, Doctor?" he asked.
-
-I thought about his question a moment. Winkelmann was good at his job.
-He persuaded his men by foul means, true; but it was all for the good
-of the ship and his crew. "Do I like Captain Winkelmann?" I asked,
-spearing another piece of my artificial steak. "Bailey, I'm afraid I'll
-have to admit that I do."
-
-Bailey smiled and lifted a second steak from the warming-pan onto my
-plate. "Then have another piece," he said.
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gourmet, by Allen Kim Lang
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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Gourmet, by Allen Kim Lang
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-Title: Gourmet
-
-Author: Allen Kim Lang
-
-Release Date: March 29, 2016 [EBook #51597]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ASCII
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOURMET ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter">
-  <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="500" alt=""/>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="titlepage">
-<h1>GOURMET</h1>
-
-<p>By ALLEN KIM LANG</p>
-
-<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br />
-Galaxy Magazine April 1962.<br />
-Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br />
-the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="figcenter">
-  <img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="547" height="500" alt=""/>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p class="ph3"><i>This was the endless problem of all<br />
-spaceship cooks: He had to feed the men<br />
-tomorrow on what they had eaten today!</i></p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p>Unable to get out to the ballgame and a long way off from the girls,
-men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It's
-true that Woman remains a topic of thoughtful study, but discussion
-can never replace practice in an art. Food, on the other hand, is a
-challenge shipmen face three times a day, so central to their thoughts
-that a history of sea-faring can be read from a commissary list.</p>
-
-<p>In the days when salt-sea sailors were charting islands and spearing
-seals, for example, the fo'c's'le hands called themselves Lobscousers,
-celebrating the liquid hash then prominent in the marine menu. The
-Limey sailor got the name of the anti-scorbutic citrus squeezed into
-his diet, a fruit known to us mariners of a more sophisticated age
-only as garnish for our groundside gin-and-tonic. And today we Marsmen
-are called Slimeheads, honoring in our title the <i>Chlorella</i> and
-<i>Scenedesmus</i> algae that, by filling up the spaces within, open the
-road to the larger Space without.</p>
-
-<p>Should any groundsman dispute the importance of belly-furniture in
-history&mdash;whether it be exterminating whales, or introducing syphilis
-to the Fiji Islanders, or settling the Australian littoral with
-cross-coves from Middlesex and Hampshire&mdash;he is referred to the
-hundred-and-first chapter of <i>Moby Dick</i>, a book spooled in the
-amusement tanks of all but the smallest spacers. I trust, however, that
-no Marsman will undertake to review this inventory of refreshment more
-than a week from groundfall. A catalogue of sides of beef and heads of
-Leyden cheese and ankers of good Geneva would prove heavy reading for a
-man condemned to snack on the Chlorella-spawn of cis-Martian space.</p>
-
-<p>The <i>Pequod's</i> crew ate wormy biscuit and salt beef. Nimitz's men won
-their war on canned pork and beans. The <i>Triton</i> made her underwater
-periplus of Earth with a galley stocked with frozen pizza and
-concentrated apple-juice. But then, when sailors left the seas for the
-skies, a decline set in.</p>
-
-<p>The first amenity of groundside existence to be abandoned was decent
-food. The earliest men into the vacuum swallowed protein squeezings
-from aluminum tubes, and were glad enough to drop back to the
-groundsman's diet of steak and fried potatoes.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Long before I was a boy in Med School, itching to look at black sky
-through a view-port, galley science had fulfilled the disgusting
-exordium of <i>Isaiah</i> 36:12, to feed the Slimeheads for breakfast today
-what was day-before-yesterday's table-scraps and jakes-water.</p>
-
-<p>The Ship's Cook, the man who accomplishes the daily miracle of turning
-offal into eatables, is in many ways the most vital man aboard a
-spacer. He can make morale or foment a mutiny. His power is paramount.
-Slimeheads remember the H. M. S. <i>Ajax</i> fiasco, for example, in which a
-galleyman leveled his Chlorella tanks with heavy water from the ship's
-shielding. Four officers and twenty-one Other Ranks were rescued from
-the <i>Ajax</i> in deep space, half dead from deuterium poisoning. We think
-of the <i>Benjo Maru</i> incident, too, caused by a Ship's Cook who allowed
-his algaeal staff-of-life to become contaminated with a fast-growing
-<i>Saccharomycodes</i> yeast. The Japanese vessel staggered to her pad at
-Piano West after a twenty-week drunk: the alien yeast had got into
-the stomach of every man aboard, where it fermented each subsequent
-bite he ate to a superior grade of <i>sake</i>. And for a third footnote to
-the ancient observation, "God sends food, and the Devil sends cooks,"
-Marsmen will recall what happened aboard my ship the <i>Charles Partlow
-Sale</i>.</p>
-
-<p>The <i>Sale</i> blasted off from Brady Station in the middle of August, due
-in at Piano West in early May. In no special hurry, we were taking
-the low-energy route to Mars, a pathway about as long in time as the
-human period of gestation. Our cargo consisted mostly of Tien-Shen fir
-seedlings and some tons of an arctic grass-seed&mdash;these to be planted
-in the <i>maria</i> to squeeze out the native blue bugberry vines. We had
-aboard the Registry minimum of six men and three officers. Ship's
-Surgeon was myself, Paul Vilanova. Our Captain was Willy Winkelmann,
-the hardest man in space and very likely the fattest. Ship's Cook was
-Robert Bailey.</p>
-
-<p>Cooking aboard a spacer is a job combining the more frustrating
-tensions of biochemistry, applied mycology, high-speed farming,
-dietetics and sewage engineering. It's the Cook's responsibility to
-see that each man aboard gets each day no less than five pounds of
-water, two pounds of oxygen, and one-and-a-half pounds of dry food.
-This isn't just a paragraph from the Spacer Union Contract. It's a
-statement of the least fuel a man can run on.</p>
-
-<p>Twelve tons of water, oxygen, and food would have filled the cargo
-compartments to bursting, and left a small ship like the <i>C. P. Sale</i>
-no reason to reach for Mars. By allowing a colony of Chlorella algae to
-work over our used air, water and other effluvia, though, three tons
-of metabolites would see us through from Brady Station to Piano West
-and back. Recycling was the answer. The molecule of carbohydrate, fat,
-protein or mineral that didn't feed the crew fed the algae. And the
-algae fed us.</p>
-
-<p>All waste was used to fertilize our liquid fields. Even the stubble
-from our 2,680 shaves and the clippings from our 666 haircuts en route
-and back would be fed into the Chlorella tanks. Human hair is rich in
-essential amino acids.</p>
-
-<p>The algae&mdash;dried by the Cook, bleached with methyl alcohol to kill the
-smell and make the residue more digestible, disguised and seasoned in a
-hundred ways&mdash;served as a sort of meat-and-potatoes that never quite
-wore out. Our air and water were equally immortal. Each molecule of
-oxygen would be conversant with the alveoli of every man aboard by the
-end of our trip. Every drop of water would have been intimate with the
-glomeruli of each kidney on the ship before we grounded in. Groundling
-politicians are right enough when they say that we spacers are a
-breed apart. We're the one race of men who can't afford the luxury of
-squeamishness.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Though I'm signed aboard as Ship's Surgeon, I seldom lift a knife
-in space. My employment is more in the nature of TS-card-puncher
-extraordinary. My duties are to serve as wailing-wall, morale officer,
-guardian of the medicinal whiskey and frustrator of mutual murder.
-Generally the man aboard who'd serve as the most popular murder-victim
-is the Cook. This trip, the-man-you-love-to-hate was our Captain.</p>
-
-<p>If the Cook hadn't problems enough with the chemical and psychic duties
-of his office, Winkelmann supplied the want. Captain Willy Winkelmann
-was the sort of man who, if he had to go into space at all, had best do
-so alone. If the Prussians had a Marine Corps, Winkelmann would have
-done splendidly as Drill Instructor for their boot camp. His heart
-was a chip of helium ice, his voice dripped sarcastic acid. The planet
-Earth was hardly large enough to accommodate a wart as annoying as
-Willy Winkelmann. Cheek-by-jowl every day in a nacelle the size of a
-Pullman car, our Captain quickly established himself as a major social
-hemorrhoid.</p>
-
-<p>The Captain's particular patsy was, of course, young Bailey the Cook.
-It was Winkelmann who saw humorous possibilities in the entry, "Bailey,
-Robert," on Ship's Articles. He at once renamed our unfortunate
-shipmate "Belly-Robber." It was Winkelmann who discussed <i>haut
-cuisine</i> and the properties of the nobler wines while we munched our
-algaeburgers and sipped coffee that tasted of utility water. And it was
-Captain Willy Winkelmann who never referred to the ship's head by any
-other name than The Kitchen Cabinet.</p>
-
-<p>Bailey tried to feed us by groundside standards. He hid the taste
-of synthetic methionine&mdash;an essential amino acid not synthesized by
-Chlorella&mdash;by seasoning our algaeal repasts with pinches of oregano
-and thyme. He tinted the pale-green dollops of pressed Chlorella pink,
-textured the mass to the consistency of hamburger and toasted the
-slabs to a delicate brown in a forlorn attempt to make mock-meat.
-For dessert, he served a fudge compounded from the dextrose-paste of
-the carbohydrate recycler. The crew thanked him. The Captain did not.
-"Belly-Robber," he said, his tone icy as winter wind off the North Sea,
-"you had best cycle this mess through the tanks again. There is a pun
-in my home country: <i>Mensch ist was er isst.</i> It means, you are what
-you eat. I think you are impertinent to suggest I should become this
-<i>Schweinerei</i> you are feeding me." Captain Winkelmann blotted his chin
-with his napkin, heaved his bulk up from the table, and climbed up the
-ladder from the dining-cubby.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>"Doc, do you like Winkelmann?" the Cook asked me.</p>
-
-<p>"Not much," I said. "I suspect that the finest gift our Captain can
-give his mother is to be absent from her on Mother's Day. But we've got
-to live with him. He's a good man at driving a ship."</p>
-
-<p>"I wish he'd leave off driving this Cook," Bailey said. "The fat swine!"</p>
-
-<p>"His plumpness is an unwitting tribute to your cooking, Bailey," I
-said. "He eats well. We all do. I've dined aboard a lot of spacers in
-my time, and I'll testify that you set a table second to none."</p>
-
-<p>Bailey took a handful of dried Chlorella from a bin and fingered it. It
-was green, smelled of swamp, and looked appetizing as a bedsore. "This
-is what I have to work with," he said. He tossed the stuff back into
-its bin. "In Ohio, which is my home country, in the presence of ladies,
-we'd call such garbage Horse-Leavings."</p>
-
-<p>"You'll never make Winkelmann happy," I said. "Even the simultaneous
-death of all other human beings could hardly make him smile. Keep up
-the good work, though, and you'll keep our Captain fat."</p>
-
-<p>Bailey nodded from his one-man cloud of gloom. I got a bottle of rye
-from Medical Stores and offered him a therapeutic draught. The Cook
-waved my gift aside. "Not now, Doc," he said. "I'm thinking about
-tomorrow's menu."</p>
-
-<p>The product of Bailey's cerebrations was on the mess table at noon the
-next day. We were each served an individual head of lettuce, dressed
-with something very like vinegar and oil, spiced with tiny leaves of
-burnet. How Bailey had constructed those synthetic lettuces I can only
-guess: the hours spent preparing a green Chlorella paste, rolling and
-drying and shaping each artificial leaf, the fitting together of nine
-heads like crisp, three-dimensional jigsaw puzzles. The <i>pi&egrave;ce de
-r&eacute;sistance</i> was again a "hamburger steak;" but this time the algaeal
-mass that made it up was buried in a rich, meaty gravy that was only
-faintly green. The essence-of-steak used in these Chlorella cutlets had
-been sprinkled with a lavish hand. Garlic was richly in evidence. "It's
-so tender," the radioman joked, "that I can hardly believe it's really
-steak."</p>
-
-<p>Bailey stared across the dining-cubby toward Winkelmann, silently
-imploring the Captain's ratification of his masterpiece. The big
-man's pink cheeks bulged and jumped with his chewing. He swallowed.
-"Belly-Robber," Winkelmann said, "I had almost rather you served me
-this pond-scum raw than have it all mucked-up with synthetic onions and
-cycler-salt."</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>"You seem able enough to choke down Bailey's chow, Captain," I said. I
-gazed at Winkelmann's form, bulbous from a lifetime of surfeit feeding.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I eat it," the Captain said, taking and talking through another
-bite. "But I eat only as a man in the desert will eat worms and
-grasshoppers, to stay alive."</p>
-
-<p>"Sir, what in heaven's name do you expect from me?" Bailey pleaded.</p>
-
-<p>"Only good food," Winkelmann mumbled through his mouthful of disguised
-algae. He tapped his head with a finger. "This&mdash;the brain that guides
-the ship&mdash;cannot be coaxed to work on hog-slop. You understand me,
-Belly-Robber?"</p>
-
-<p>Bailey, his hands fisted at his sides, nodded. "Yes, sir. But I really
-don't know what I can do to please you."</p>
-
-<p>"You are a spacer and a Ship's Cook, not a suburban <i>Hausfrau</i> with the
-vapors," Winkelmann said. "I do not expect from you hysterics, tantrums
-or weeping. Only&mdash;can you understand this, so simple?&mdash;food that will
-keep my belly content and my brain alive."</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, sir," Bailey said, his face a picture of that offense the British
-term Dumb Insolence.</p>
-
-<p>Winkelmann got up and climbed the ladder to the pilot-cubicle. I
-followed him. "Captain," I said, "you're driving Bailey too hard.
-You're asking him to make bricks without straw."</p>
-
-<p>Winkelmann regarded me with his pale-blue stare. "You think, Doctor,
-that my cruelty to the Belly-Robber is the biliousness of a middle-aged
-man?"</p>
-
-<p>"Frankly, I can't understand your attitude at all," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"You accuse me of driving a man to make bricks without straw,"
-Winkelmann said. "Very well, Doctor. It is my belief that if the
-Pharaoh's taskmaster had had my firmness of purpose, the Children of
-Israel would have made bricks with stubble. Necessity, Doctor, is the
-mother of invention. I am Bailey's necessity. My unkindnesses make him
-uncomfortable, I doubt that not. But I am forcing him to experiment,
-to improvise, to widen the horizons of his ingenuity. He will learn
-somehow to bring good food from Chlorella tanks."</p>
-
-<p>"You're driving him too hard, Sir," I said. "He'll crack."</p>
-
-<p>"Bailey will have some fifty thousand dollars' salary waiting when we
-ground at Brady Station," Captain Winkelmann said. "So much money buys
-many discomforts. That will be all, Doctor Vilanova."</p>
-
-<p>"Crew morale on the ship...." I began.</p>
-
-<p>"That will be all, Doctor Vilanova," Captain Winkelmann repeated.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Bailey grew more silent as we threaded our way along the elliptical
-path to Mars. Each meal he prepared was a fresh attempt to propitiate
-the appetite of our splenetic Captain. Each such offering was condemned
-by that heartless man. Bailey began to try avoiding the Captain at
-mealtimes, but was frustrated by Winkelmann's orders. "Convey my
-compliments to the Chef, please," the Captain would instruct one of
-the crew, "and ask him to step down here a moment." And the Cook would
-cheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary genius
-acidly called in question again.</p>
-
-<p>I myself do not doubt that Bailey was the finest Cook ever to go
-into Hohmann orbit. His every meal established a higher benchmark in
-brilliant galleymanship. We were served, for instance, an <i>ersatz</i> hot
-turkey supreme. The cheese-sauce was almost believable, the Chlorella
-turkey-flesh was white and tender. Bailey served with this delicacy
-a grainy and delicious "cornbread," and had extracted from his algae
-a lipid butter-substitute that soaked into the hot "bread" with a
-genuinely dairy smell. "Splendid, Bailey," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"We are not amused," said Captain Winkelmann, accepting a second
-helping of the pseudo-turkey. "You are improving, Belly-Robber, but
-only arithmetically. Your first efforts were so hideous as to require
-a geometric progression of improving excellence to raise them to mere
-edibility. By the time we are halfway 'round the Sun, I trust you will
-have learned to cook with the competence of a freshman Home Economics
-student. That will be all, Bailey."</p>
-
-<p>The crew and my fellow-officers were amused by Winkelmann's riding of
-Bailey; they were in addition gratified that the battle between their
-Captain and their Cook served to feed them so well. Most spacers embark
-on an outward voyage somewhat plump, having eaten enough on their last
-few days aground to smuggle several hundred calories of fat and many
-memories of good food aboard with them. This trip, none of the men had
-lost weight during the first four months in space. Winkelmann, indeed,
-seemed to have gained. His uniform was taut over his plump backside,
-and he puffed a bit up the ladders. I was considering suggesting to our
-Captain that he curtail his diet for reasons of health, a bit of advice
-that would have stood unique in the annals of space medicine, when
-Winkelmann produced his supreme insult to our Cook.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Each man aboard a spacer is allowed ten kilograms of personal effects
-besides his uniforms, these being considered Ship's Furnishing. As
-his rank and responsibility merit, the Captain is allowed double this
-ration. He may thus bring aboard with him some forty-five pounds of
-books, playing-cards, knitting-wool, whiskey or what have you to help
-him while away the hours between the planets. Bailey, I knew for a
-fact, had used up his weight-allowance in bringing aboard a case of
-spices: marjoram and mint, costmary, file powder, basil and allspice,
-and a dozen others.</p>
-
-<p>Captain Winkelmann was not a reader, and had brought no books. Cards
-interested him not at all, as card-playing implies a sociability alien
-to his nature. He never drank aboard ship. I had supposed that he'd
-exercised his option of returning his personal-effects weight allowance
-to the owners for the consideration of one hundred dollars a kilogram.
-To collect the maximum allowance, spacers have been known to come
-aboard their ship mother-naked.</p>
-
-<p>But this was not the case with Winkelmann. His personal-effects
-baggage, an unlabeled cardboard box, appeared under the table at noon
-mess some hundred days out from Piano West. Winkelmann rested his feet
-on the mysterious box as he sat to eat.</p>
-
-<p>"What disgusting form does the ship's garbage appear in today,
-Belly-Robber?" he asked the Cook.</p>
-
-<p>Bailey frowned, but kept his temper, an asceticism in which by now he'd
-had much practice. "I've been working on the problem of steak, Sir,"
-he said. "I think I've whipped the taste; what was left was to get the
-texture steak-like. Do you understand, Sir?"</p>
-
-<p>"I understand," Winkelmann growled. "You intend that your latest mess
-should feel like steak to the mouth, and not like baby-food. Right?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Sir," Bailey said. "Well, I squeezed the
-steak-substrate&mdash;Chlorella, of course, with all sorts of special
-seasonings&mdash;through a sieve, and blanched the strands in hot algaeal
-oil. Then I chopped those strands to bits and rolled them out. <i>Voila!</i>
-I had something very close in texture to the muscle-fibers of genuine
-meat."</p>
-
-<p>"Remarkable, Bailey," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"It rather throws me off my appetite to hear how you muddle about with
-our food," the Captain said, his jowls settling into an expression of
-distaste. "It's quite all right to eat lobster, for example, but I
-never cared to see the ugly beast boiled before my eyes. Detail spoils
-the meal."</p>
-
-<p>Bailey lifted the cover off the electric warming-pan at the center of
-the table and tenderly lifted a small "steak" onto each of our plates.
-"Try it," he urged the Captain.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Captain Winkelmann sliced off a corner of his algaeal steak. The
-color was an excellent medium-rare, the odor was the rich smell
-of fresh-broiled beef. Winkelmann bit down, chewed, swallowed. "Not
-too bad, Belly-Robber," he said, nodding. Bailey grinned and bobbed
-his head, his hands folded before him in an ecstasy of pleasure. A
-kind word from the Captain bettered the ruffles-and-flourishes of a
-more reasonable man. "But it still needs something ... something,"
-Winkelmann went on, slicing off another portion of the tasty Chlorella.
-"Aha! I have it!"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, Sir?" Bailey asked.</p>
-
-<p>"This, Belly-Robber!" Winkelmann reached beneath the mess-table and
-ripped open his cardboard carton. He brought out a bottle and unscrewed
-the cap. "Ketchup," he said, splattering the red juice over Bailey's
-masterpiece. "The scarlet burial-shroud for the failures of Cooks."
-Lifting a hunk of the "steak," streaming ketchup, to his mouth,
-Winkelmann chewed. "Just the thing," he smiled.</p>
-
-<p>"Damn you!" Bailey shouted.</p>
-
-<p>Winkelmann's smile flicked off, and his blue eyes pierced the Cook.</p>
-
-<p>"... Sir," Bailey added.</p>
-
-<p>"That's better," Winkelmann said, and took another bite. He said
-meditatively, "Used with caution, and only by myself, I believe I have
-sufficient ketchup here to see me through to Mars. Please keep a
-bottle on the table for all my future meals, Belly-Robber."</p>
-
-<p>"But, Sir...." Bailey began.</p>
-
-<p>"You must realize, Belly-Robber, that a dyspeptic Captain is a threat
-to the welfare of his ship. Were I to continue eating your surrealistic
-slops for another hundred days, without the small consolation of
-this sauce I had the foresight to bring with me, I'd likely be in
-no condition to jet us safely down to the Piano West pad. Do you
-understand, Belly-Robber?" he demanded.</p>
-
-<p>"I understand that you're an ungrateful, impossible, square-headed,
-slave-driving...."</p>
-
-<p>"Watch your noun," Winkelmann cautioned the Cook. "Your adjectives are
-insubordinate; your noun might prove mutinous."</p>
-
-<p>"Captain, you've gone too far," I said. Bailey, his fists knotted, was
-scarlet, his chest heaving with emotion.</p>
-
-<p>"Doctor, I must point out to you that it ill behooves the Ship's
-Surgeon to side with the Cook against the Captain," Winkelmann said.</p>
-
-<p>"Sir, Bailey has tried hard to please you," I said. "The other officers
-and the men have been more than satisfied with his work."</p>
-
-<p>"That only suggests atrophy of their taste buds," Winkelmann said.
-"Doctor, you are excused. As are you, Belly-Robber," he added.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Bailey and I climbed from the mess compartment together. I steered him
-to my quarters, where the medical supplies were stored. He sat on my
-bunk and exploded into weeping, banging his fists against the metal
-bulkhead. "You'll have that drink now," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"No, dammit!" he shouted.</p>
-
-<p>"Orders," I said. I poured us each some fifty cc's of rye. "This is
-therapy, Bailey," I told him. He poured the fiery stuff down his throat
-like water and silently held out his glass for a second. I provided it.</p>
-
-<p>After a few minutes Bailey's sobbing ceased. "Sorry, Doc," he said.</p>
-
-<p>"You've taken more pressure than most men would," I said. "Nothing to
-be ashamed of."</p>
-
-<p>"He's crazy. What sane man would expect me to dip Wiener schnitzel
-and sauerkraut and <i>Backhahndl nach suddeutscher Art</i> out of an algae
-tank? I've got nothing but microscopic weeds to cook for him! Worn-out
-molecules reclaimed from the head; packaged amino acid additives. And
-he expects meals that would take the blue ribbon at the annual banquet
-of the Friends of Escoffier!"</p>
-
-<p>"Yours is an ancient plaint, Bailey," I said. "You've worked your
-fingers to the bone, slaving over a hot stove, and you're not
-appreciated. But you're not married to Winkelmann, remember. A year
-from now you'll be home in Ohio, fifty grand richer, set to start that
-restaurant of yours and forget about our fat Flying Dutchman."</p>
-
-<p>"I hate him," Bailey said with the simplicity of true emotion. He
-reached for the bottle. I let him have it. Sometimes alcohol can be
-an apt confederate of <i>vis medicatrix naturae</i>, the healing power of
-nature. Half an hour later I strapped Bailey into his bunk to sleep it
-off. That therapeutic drunk seemed to be just what he'd needed.</p>
-
-<p>For morning mess the next day we had a broth remarkable in
-horribleness, a pottage or boiled <i>Chlorella vulgaris</i> that looked
-and tasted like the vomit of some bottom-feeding sea-beast. Bailey,
-red-eyed and a-tremble, made no apology, and stared at Winkelmann as
-though daring him to comment. The Captain lifted a spoonful of the
-disgusting stuff to his lips, smacked and said, "Belly-Robber, you're
-improving a little at last."</p>
-
-<p>Bailey nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Sir," he said.</p>
-
-<p>I smiled, too. Bailey had conquered himself. His psychic defenses were
-now strong enough to withstand the Captain's fiercest assaults of
-irony. Our food would likely be bad the rest of this trip, but that was
-a price I was willing to pay for seeing destroyed the Willy Winkelmann
-theory of forcing a Cook to make bricks without straw. The Captain
-had pushed too hard. He'd need that ketchup for the meals to come, I
-thought.</p>
-
-<p>Noon mess was nearly as awful as breakfast had been. The coffee tasted
-of salt, and went largely undrunk. The men in the mess compartment were
-vehement in their protests, blaming the Captain, in his absence, for
-the decline in culinary standards. Bailey seemed not to care. He served
-the algaeburgers with half a mind, and hurried back into his galley
-oblivious of the taunts of his crewmates.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>There being only three seats in the <i>Sale's</i> mess compartment, we ate
-our meals in three shifts. That evening, going down the ladder to
-supper, my nose was met with a spine-tingling barbecue tang, a smell
-to make a man think of gray charcoal glowing in a picnic brazier,
-of cicadas chirping and green grass underfoot, of the pop and hiss
-of canned beer being church-keyed. "He's done it, Doc!" one of the
-first-shift diners said. "It actually tastes of food!"</p>
-
-<p>"Then he's beat the Captain at his game," I said.</p>
-
-<p>"The Dutchman won't want to mess ketchup on these steaks," the crewman
-said.</p>
-
-<p>I sat, unfolded my napkin, and looked with hope to the electric
-warming-pan at the center of the table. Bailey served the three of
-us with the small "steaks." Each contained about a pound of dried
-Chlorella, I judged, teasing mine with my fork. But they were drenched
-in a gravy rich as the stuff grandma used to make in her black iron
-skillet, peppery and seasoned with courageous bits of garlic. I cut
-a bit from my steak and chewed it. Too tender, of course; there are
-limits to art. But the pond-scum taste was gone. Bailey appeared in the
-galley door. I gestured for him to join me. "You've done it, Bailey,"
-I said. "Every Slimehead in orbit will thank you for this. This is
-actually <i>good</i>."</p>
-
-<p>"Thanks, Doc," Bailey said.</p>
-
-<p>I smiled and took another bite. "You may not realize it, Bailey; but
-this is a victory for the Captain, too. He drove you to this triumph;
-you couldn't have done it without him."</p>
-
-<p>"You mean he was just whipping me on, trying to make me do better?"
-Bailey asked.</p>
-
-<p>"He was driving you to do the impossible," I said; "and you did it. Our
-Captain may be a hard man, Bailey; but he did know how to coax maximum
-performance out of his Ship's Cook."</p>
-
-<p>Bailey stood up. "Do you like Captain Winkelmann, Doctor?" he asked.</p>
-
-<p>I thought about his question a moment. Winkelmann was good at his job.
-He persuaded his men by foul means, true; but it was all for the good
-of the ship and his crew. "Do I like Captain Winkelmann?" I asked,
-spearing another piece of my artificial steak. "Bailey, I'm afraid I'll
-have to admit that I do."</p>
-
-<p>Bailey smiled and lifted a second steak from the warming-pan onto my
-plate. "Then have another piece," he said.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="figcenter">
-  <img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="334" height="500" alt=""/>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gourmet, by Allen Kim Lang
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