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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a2ab50 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51597 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51597) diff --git a/old/51597-8.txt b/old/51597-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8109e06..0000000 --- a/old/51597-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,947 +0,0 @@ -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: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOURMET *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - 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 - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOURMET *** - -***** This file should be named 51597-8.txt or 51597-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/5/9/51597/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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—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 <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—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—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.</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—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: <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>pièce de -résistance</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—the brain that guides -the ship—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—can you understand this, so simple?—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—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. <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 - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOURMET *** - -***** This file should be named 51597-h.htm or 51597-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/5/9/51597/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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