London, Wednesday 19th January 1994
Wondering about the identity of the woman with the chief, Grapok headed back into the kitchens to start preparing their meal. It was the first time the security captain had eaten here, and Grapok wanted to make sure everything was perfect.
Grapok was not, of course, his real name; that was Ch'Pok. Rather, it was a silly nickname that had been given him by his fellow soldiers due to his penchant for using lots of grapok sauce when cooking. It hadn't helped that his proper name even sounded like it, but he'd long since got used to answering to the ridiculous moniker.
Busy lining a pastry dish, Grapok's fellow chef and co-owner of 'The Neutral Zone', looked up from what he was doing as the Klingon entered the kitchen. "You don't normally take the orders yourself," the Terran commented. "Someone important?"
Grapok nodded, moving over to the fridge and opening the door to search for the ingredients he needed. "That's the big boss. Tom, could you get some fresh gagh out of the storage unit when you go past. We need to make sure he gets served the best of everything."
The human frowned. He'd thought Karg was in charge. This was interesting information. With the dish prepared to his satisfaction, he wiped his floury hands on his apron and headed towards the little office. He had a phone call to make.
"Tom…" the Klingon called him back. No longer Grapok, the genial chef, he was suddenly every inch Ch'Pok, the ruthless Klingon soldier. "If it weren't for the security captain, we wouldn't have this restaurant. I know the resistance watch the place. If you even think about telling them he's here, I swear you won't live long enough to regret it."
The restaurant was well named, acting as a neutral zone where both Terrans and Klingons were both welcome and safe. Officially, Grapok did not know that there was an informal agreement in place with the resistance, but without it, the place could not function. Likewise, the Klingons did not bother the humans who visited the restaurant.
Despite that, if the resistance were to find out that the overall head of the Klingon occupation forces was eating in the restaurant, Grapok knew they would make an attempt on his life. The security captain was too important a target for them to do otherwise and it would be a huge coup if they succeeded.
The human studied his Klingon friend. Realising that Grapok was deadly serious, he slowly nodded, not bothering to deny the accusation. "Understood."
The Klingon security captain proved to be surprisingly good company. Chrissie's initial assessment of his character proved fairly accurate - he was an intelligent, serious man and as they talked, she quickly discovered that he was knowledgeable on a wide range of subjects and had a dry sense of humour. Before long she had relaxed and was beginning to enjoy herself.
They had decided to eat buffet style, with a varied selection of small dishes, rather than have one main meal each in the Terran tradition. With the chef's assistance, Krang had chosen several dishes that he thought a human might find palatable, although the expression on his companion's face when she saw the food on the other table reinforced his belief that she would not like the food. Nevertheless, she was willing to try it and he gave her points for that.
"I've loved sci-fi since I was a kid," she told him as they waited for the food to arrive. "I never thought I'd ever find myself sitting in a restaurant with someone from another planet and eating alien foods."
Krang frowned slightly. He had not bothered with a translator, assuming his English was good enough that it was unnecessary. Obviously, his knowledge of the language was not quite as good as he'd thought. "Sci-fi? What is that?"
"Science fiction," she clarified. "It's a genre of stories about things like time travel, alien invasion, spaceships, advanced technologies and so on." It sounded very like her current reality, although it was, she thought, much more fun when it was just a story. "There's a lot of sillier stuff as well," she added, noting that his serious, almost grim look had returned - and she guessed that he too had noted the similarity to current events. "Alien monsters, mutant robots, mad scientists… you name it, it's in there."
"We have similar stories," he admitted, relaxing slightly. "One of the oldest stories, dating back to well before we had space travel, tells of monstrous hunters from another planet who…"
"…who would come in the very hottest summers, hunt your warriors and take their skulls as trophies?" It was Chrissie's turn to frown as he nodded. "We have the same story."
The waitress arrived then, with a bottle of bloodwine, which she opened in front of them and placed on the table. Krang picked it up and studied the label; Opri Vintner, one of the better producers of bloodwine, even if it was not quite up to the calibre of his own estate.
Pouring a generous portion into one of those pewter tankards she'd seen the soldiers drinking from, he tasted it. "Not a bad vintage. If you wish to taste it, I would suggest only a very small amount. By your standards, it is extremely strong."
"Does it actually contain blood?"
"Yes, although not as much as you'd think from the name." He offered her the tankard as he spoke. "The main ingredient is a fermented fruit, one not dissimilar to your grapes but a little more acidic."
"You'd need the acid to prevent coagulation," Chrissie said thoughtfully, reaching to accept it. Her fingers brushed against his as she took it from him, the contact causing both of them to stop and look at each other. There was a heat in his eyes that made her heart pound and blood rush to her cheeks. Flustered and blushing, she looked away from him, all thoughts of the winemaking process completely gone. Shaking herself mentally, she carefully raised the tankard to her lips. The fumes alone were almost enough to make her choke; as he had warned, the wine was extremely strong and when she did take a tiny sip, she could distinguish very little above the burning of the alcohol.
She was just handing the tankard of bloodwine back to him when the chef appeared again. "Best quality meshta gagh," he announced, placing a large pottery bowl on the table.
The contents were not just alive but moving, wriggling energetically. Chrissie stared at Krang in horrified fascination as he picked up one of the worm things and ate it. He had warned her that some of their food was served live, she remembered, but she'd thought he was joking.
"You're not wrong about the quality," Krang complimented the chef. "They have an interesting flavour. What are you feeding them on?"
"I've been trialling them on beef offcuts from a local butcher," Grapok replied. "I think it's worked well." About to retreat back to the kitchen, he stopped to watch, curious to see the human woman's reaction as the security captain picked up a serpent worm and held it out to her.
Slowly she reached out and took it from him, looking up at him as she did so. "It's... it's still alive," she said as the thing continued to wriggle.
"Of course, it's still alive," the Klingon said patiently. "Gagh is best served very fresh. Try it, it's good."
Caught by surprise at the sensation of it squirming in her fingers, she let go of the worm and it fell onto her plate where it lay wriggling energetically. "You said it takes the flavour of what it eats," Chrissie said, watching it thoughtfully. "I wonder… what would happen if you fed it on chocolate?"
Both Krang and the chef stared at her with identical horrified expressions and she was vaguely aware that one of the Klingon officers, passing by on his way to the bar, had also stopped. "What?" she demanded. "It might even make them edible!"
Grapok gave a theatrical groan. "My lord, can I just kill her now?"
"You would be justified," Krang allowed. "That has to be the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."
The chef walked off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Krang glared at the watching officer who quickly moved on, before offering Chrissie a wicked grin. "You've started something, you know. I guarantee within a week he will have tried it."
Laughing, she turned her attention back to the 'worm' which was wriggling its way towards the edge of her plate in an ultimately futile escape attempt. "You're not really going to make me eat it, are you?"
"You did ask to try our food," he challenged her. "Your children are not afraid to eat it."
"That's no recommendation," she refuted. "Those little horrors will eat anything. Thankfully, they've grown out of it now, but they both went through a stage where they'd pick up worms, insects, beetles… you name it… straight in their mouths. How they didn't die of food poisoning, I will never know."
"What does not kill us, makes us stronger," the Klingon quoted. "So… are you going to try it?"
She wasn't getting out of this, she realised. Steeling herself, she picked up the disgusting thing and brought it towards her mouth. As though sensing its impending demise, the 'worm' stepped up its wriggling, almost jumping out of her fingers and she was convinced it had just tried to bite her. Chrissie stopped and put it down again. It was alive, moving and fighting back. There was absolutely no way she was putting it in her mouth. Was it too late, she wondered, to claim that she was vegetarian? "I'm sorry," she said, aware that if he had been testing her, she had just failed. "I can't do it. I can't eat it."
An experienced interrogator, Krang did not find it difficult to read her body language and he had a good idea what she was thinking. "Standing up for yourself is never a failure," he told her, before picking up the serpent worm and eating it. "Never compromise yourself or your ideals for others."
"HIja, joHwI'. Yes, my lord," Chrissie said, carefully trying out the handful of Klingon words he had taught her.
Krang growled, a sound that was both intimidating and inviting at the same time. Her accent was not perfect, but he liked the sound of his language on her lips. "When we are alone," he promised her, "you will say that to me again. I will make you scream it over and over." Her blush left him feeling very pleased with himself.
After that, the rest of the meal was almost tame in comparison. Chrissie did not think she would ever become fond of Klingon food, but at least the remaining dishes were already dead and were edible, if not completely enjoyable. Not everything contained blood or even meat, although the vast majority did. Compared to humans, Klingons were much more carnivorous and seemed to need a lot more protein in their diet. Something called gladst turned out to be her favourite, a brown, leafy dish that looked vaguely like seaweed but had a flavour reminiscent of spiced mushrooms. She also liked the dessert he chose, slices of a marinated fruit that he called zilm'kach but reminded her very strongly of apricots.
In return she introduced him to a selection of foods that she thought might appeal to him. Steak tartare, sushi and a local dish called black pudding – which he had been surprised to find was not a pudding at all, but a sausage made from blood which was traditionally cut into slices, fried and eaten for breakfast.
They talked of many things, some amusing, others more serious. Some subjects, such as the Klingon occupation were carefully avoided, nor did Chrissie speak of her mate, instead sharing several funny stories about her children and respecting her obvious desire to avoid the subject, he did not ask. Instead, he told her stories of his own youthful adventures and mishaps, before giving her an account of the time he had spent with her children.
Before they knew it, they were the only ones left in the restaurant and the chef was approaching them. "My lord," Grapok said, "If we do not close soon, our Terran staff will not have time to clear up and get home before curfew begins."
"Understood," Krang said, getting to his feet and reaching into a pocket to remove a small leather wallet. "You have done well, Ch'Pok." Deliberately, he used the chef's real name. "This place is a credit to you." So saying, he extracted his credit chip from the wallet and offered it to the chef.
Grapok stepped back, holding up a hand in refusal. "It's on the house. We are honoured to have you as our guest."
"Thank you," Chrissie said, "It's been a lovely evening." Krang had explained to her that Klingons did not generally use words like please and thank you, but it was an important part of her culture and she could not leave without expressing her gratitude.
"You are very welcome," the chef said, offering her a bow. "I hope you will return and eat here again." He grinned, adding, "and maybe next time, the gagh will be more to your satisfaction."
"As long as you kill it first." Chrissie laughed at the look of disgust on both men's faces.
Bloodwine: There is absolutely nothing canon that says what bloodwine is made of or how it is made. Some people assume it is fermented blood, others think it is a fermented fruit that looks like blood, much like the Spanish Sangre de Toro or the Hungarian Egri Bikaver. I have therefore felt free to use my imagination and my knowledge of winemaking to come up with something plausible - and there are many reasons why pure blood would not make a good alcoholic beverage.
Likewise, at no point are we ever told what any of the Klingon foods actually taste like so again, I have used my imagination.
Black Pudding is a sausage, made from blood, onions and various grains, which is sliced, fried and eaten as part of the traditional Full English Breakfast.