Night 36: Mlynar, Moon Cake with Twin Yokes

The Late Night Diner is a part of Rhodes Island's canteen. That goes without saying – to whom had anyone ever heard of a diner in the boiler room?

As the name implies, it opens around midnight. There are only a handful of customers at a time.

Operators off their night shift could take an order and bring back to their quarters. Night owls could sit dining-in while leeching off the Diner's wi-fi. The Doctor would come for instant noodles from time to time.

Drinks are in the cooler. Anyone burdened by their own thoughts could take one and chug it down, anytime.

Menu? No such thing exists. What the Chef prepares is what you get. It all depends on his mood of the day.

Welcome to the Rhodes Island Late Night Diner. In here, you might even meet a familiar face or two.


The customers of the Late Night Diner all had their own habit. Some liked trash food while others preferred leafy green with their late night show binge. Even more liked alcoholic drinks in bottles large and small. Yet when the Chef saw the one who stayed by himself and quietly reading newspaper in his hands, he had to admit that there was first time for everything.

"Good evening, what can I get for you?" The Chef asked while wiping down his kitchen knife. He studied the sullen mid-aged man before him. Over the years he had seen many of such faces. It was a face that belonged to a salaryman who squirmed under the thumb of his boss, and whose family was dysfunctional with no relatives to rely on, more over with disrespectful and rebellious underlings while his own life was stifling like a pool of stagnant water. Usually his type would order a large mug of beer and an even larger plate of fried featherbeast wings, then drown their broken souls in booze and grease. Yet this one looked to be an ill fit to his surroundings. He sat upright and in silence amidst a crowd of rowdy drunks, as if an overseer lording over his unruly minions.

Although...it did look like he had given up all hope in his struggle with life's hardship. All there left in his heart was a pile of cold ash.

"Newspaper from Kazmiers please. I'd like to know what happened there recently." The man answered politely. "If it's no trouble."

"Afraid I don't serve it here. I only got waxed papers." The Chef jested, then leaned close to him and said. "You should check Closure's store to see if she has any. But be careful, she's a shrewd one. That damn vampire doesn't take market price for a yes if you know what I mean."

"Well, thank you. Have a good evening." The man said. He stood up from his seat and was ready to go.

"Wait up! Please, stay a while. Don't you want something to fill your stomach before heading out?" The Chef saw his potential customer was about to leave and sprung to action. "There are still hand-made pastry, soft and tasty."

The man stood still for a few moments then sat down again. "Hot tea or cocoa would be fine, thank you." He said.

That was the first time the Chef met Mlynar Nearl. On that day, this man who only ordered a cup of hot tea left him quite an impression. It was later from others that the Chef learnt that mister Mlynar was not quite a salaryman who had a hatred for all things in life...although, he does have a few things in his life that he could not quite let go just yet.

"Mister Mlynar, come to read newspaper again tonight?"

For enticing potential customers, the Chef put up a small newspaper box near the bar counter. Mlynar would come and read papers when his shift ended each night, and having a cup of hot tea. His solemn demeanour made others curious. Because of him, there had been a fad of newspaper reading sweeping through the customers of the Diner lately.

"Want to try some moon cakes? It's August 15th in Yan calendar. Mid-autumn. Just in time to view the moon while having these pastries." The Chef pushed a small plate to him along with his hot tea. The moon cake in it was shiny and golden. "It's on the house. Please have a taste."

The mould for the moon cake was commissioned specially for the Rhodes kitchen. For operators who ordered them, there were specific insignias or emblems matching their background or country of origin. The moon cake before Mlynar had the emblem of Nearl family on it, as well as the symbol of a half-drawn arming sword. The skin for the moon cake was oily, and it made the emblem shine in the light. He picked up the cake, and gazed at the emblem that burdened him much in his life. In Yan tradition mid-autumn was a time for family reunion, yet all he had were his two troublesome nieces and his cousin Zofia. He was not in the mood for a heartfelt reunion. Kazimierz had granted him only a handful, yet took so much more from him; all he could do was to silently light up the way forward for Margaret and Maria like a midday sun, yet he could not cast the the shawl of serene light on their back like the twin moons.

Mlynar bit down on the moon cake. The soft and slightly crunchy skin melted on the tip of his tongue, while a sprinkle of flakes fell down onto the newspaper, leaving behind spots of oil stains. The filling was smooth lotus seed paste. It was sweet yet not overwhelming so, and carried a distinct refreshing taste. The cuisine of Kazimierz was quite different from that of Yan, and desserts and pastries also differed quite largely. He was not a big fan of the type of pastry that stick to his mouth, though strangely he was content with it.

A smear of gold appeared near the centre of the filling. It was a salty egg yolk. People of Yan liked adding one or two cooked egg yolk inside lotus seed paste filling of the moon cakes, as it carried the well-wishes of reuniting the family and doubling the fortune. The yolks were soaked with oil, and after the baking process they were hard on the outside and smooth on the inside. With just one bite, the crumbling yolks would mix well with the smooth lotus seed paste, and leaving behind a salty savoury taste in his mouth.

Outside the window, the twin moons glowed gold. Bright moonlight shone through the window and splashed onto the table before Mlynar. It made him raise his head and look out towards the deep sapphire night sky.

"There are two more. They were made for Miss Margaret and Miss Maria. If it's OK with you, could you please brought them for me?" The Chef refilled his tea, and passed him two delicate boxes. "I still need to look after the Diner. Also, your moon cake was made by them, too. I instructed them by hand, though to tell the truth I was in bit of a hurry. So if it doesn't quite fit your taste please accept my apology."

Mlynar sat in silence. He looked down at the half-eaten moonquakes in his plate. The surface had quite a few blemishes on it, and on the edge there was a spot where the filling spilled out. All the signs pointed to the fact that it was made by an amature.

"Sure." He said, and dusted off the crumbs that had fallen onto his lap. Then he took a small bite off the moon cake in the plate again.

The filling was made by Maria, he could tell. Compare to Margret, her taste for sweetness was much more intense.