400 Dishes
o0o0o0o
Siomay stood with the other chefs as the chef de cuisine walked down the line, giving them their assignments. Around them, in refrigerators, in cupboards, on the tables, or hanging from racks, were the various ingredients that would be used to assemble the four hundred meals that would be sent down the Vertical Self-Management Center.
It was almost surreal to look at the variety of items that had been set out for her and the others to work with. Some of these ingredients could be available in the neighborhood markets if you had the credit for it – the fresh vegetables and fruits, fragrant oils, spices and herbs that one could take home to grind themselves, good-quality grain or meat. Sometimes her family had been able to afford to augment their government-provided diet with that choice fare, but Siomay had learned to cook using whatever ingredients were at hand.
Most people did not have the space to maintain a garden, providing further hindrance to access to fresh ingredients. Having a regular supply of what she saw before her in this grand kitchen was something generally reserved for the privileged.
But this was a unique kitchen. Instead of working as personal chefs to those in power, or cooks in the fine establishments that catered to such people and whomever they chose to entertain, the people that had been hired for this place were cooking for the residents of the Vertical Self-Management Center. Not much was known about the Center, only that people went in with one item of their choice, and if they came out, they were given rewards. They were provided with a fine meal every day, though she imagined it might get repetitive to eat the same thing day after day. But perhaps if they chose a succulent enough dish, it would keep them happy during the time they spent in the Center.
And the plates and other dishes always came up empty, they were told. So she and her fellow chefs were doing the job that they had been hired for, and if any of them did particularly well, they might have the chance for more opportunities or private employment. It meant more credits, access to better food and educational opportunities, and who would not want an improved standard of living?
So she learned to make a variety of dishes from recipes collected from around the world. Bibimbap, panna cotta, pasta, cake, savory stews and roasts, high-grade cuts of meat, fruits or spices that could only be grown in very limited parts of the world, the list goes on. But sometimes the selected dish is surprisingly simple. Melons cut and filled with varieties of fruit, bowls of salads or crispy pickled vegetables, or charcuterie spreads of cold meat and cheese. Regardless of the simplicity of the recipe, it must be done well. The tools are top-of-the-line, the ingredients are the best, and preparation is undertaken with great care. There is even the soothing backdrop of the musicians, notes wafting through the air on the scent of the foods being cooked, although the tune will pick up at intervals to cue the chefs on time.
Her dish passes inspection, and she and the other remaining chefs go through the doorway and approach the platform, setting their dishes onto the surface with great care, and positioning the food. She was the last one to enter the room, so she was the last one to add her dish to the platform, the last of four hundred dishes providing the daily meal for the inmates. The side of the room has a large 0 carved into the concrete. As she turns to leave the room, she regards the platform with one last glance.
Not one bite goes uneaten, she and the other chefs had been told during their orientation when they'd been selected to work here. Whatever else goes on in the VSMC, at least its residents eat well, and who wouldn't want to savor every last bit of the sumptuous feast that was prepared every morning? Several cakes dominate the platform, made from real sugar, butter, and eggs… well, real everything. She should know, as she had made several different types of cakes here.
As with each recipe she has learned, she has read up on the varieties of the dish to better understand it and appreciate the sophistication regardless of simplicity. And to further understand, and improve their craft, this job comes with the added benefit of being able to eat what you make. Not a great amount of it, of course. The ingredients are carefully monitored and guarded, but if one is careful, one can enjoy at least a few mouthfuls every day of the finest produce and meats that any kitchen could have access to. And so she does, picking up the escargot and tilting the shell, savoring the buttery taste as the chopped snail slid past her tongue.
Escargot a la bourguignonne.
It was a strange notion when she'd first read the recipe. Snails? But it was what was requested, so she and several others had been put to the task, of learning how to prepare the snails and make the escargot properly before the resident took his place in the VSMC.
The sauce was one to remember. Even after a chef left this kitchen, they would do well to remember all they'd learned here. The garlic butter sauce could be applied to other dishes. And the panna cotta… She was surprised at how good that had tasted, and was sad when her rota on that dish ended.
She picked up the other snail, licking her fingers of the sauce after she was done. Not for the first time she wondered who would be eating the dish she had prepared today. There was no way of knowing of course. The process was supposed to be confidential, a private agreement between the government and the people who entered the VSMC. To her and her co-workers, the only evidence of the residents of the VSMC was the menu of 400 dishes, changing at the end of each month. She sometimes wonders if she will ever see any of these people out there once their time is complete.
Siomay cleans up her work area. Cleanliness is next to godliness, her grandmother would say. The government might not think much of religion, but Siomay understands the value of cleanliness well. Around her are other chefs cleaning their workstations, making everything ready for the next day, including checking on ingredients that required more lengthy preparations. Then they would be dismissed, to spend a little time with their families – if they had any – and rest before starting another day, up early in the morning to feed the residents of the VSMC.
o0o0o0o
As in any other occupation, people will talk. Various dishes are discussed, and their origins, along with notable items on the VSMC's menu. There had been one resident of the VSMC, for example, who had asked for cold cereal and milk. Which led her to wonder what the state of that food was by the time it reached that person. Did the residents simply gather around the platform and take their dishes? After all, while some of the dishes might hold for hours, there were always a few hot meals that became considerably less tasty after cooling down, especially fried items.
Everything had always been eaten in the end, though. So it is quite a shock when the chef de cuisine walks among the row of chefs, holding up a panna cotta that had come back up, untouched but with a hair on it. Even though Siomay knows that hair is not hers, she has to fight the urge to reach up and pat her hair to make sure it's pinned back and restrained properly.
The panna cotta passes by, and she notes the subtle differences in this dish compared to when it had been her turn to make it. Other than the hair, the dish is flawless, and she wonders if the VSMC is as bad as some say, if a resident can send a dish back for a hair. Will that person be getting two panna cottas today to make up for it? She will find out who is making the panna cotta and ask them.
Meanwhile, there is escargot to prepare, and the various components of bibimbap to cook and assemble, not knowing that the two people who chose these dishes will never eat them or any other dish again, or that the dishes that come up every night are licked clean and often broken by the residents unfortunate enough to come to the platform too late.
o0o0o0o
In keeping with the theme of names that were chosen for the characters in the movie, I went with Siomay, which is an Indonesian dumpling dish.
When I saw the platform for the first time, I could not stop thinking about it and watched it several times. I found the world of the Platform intriguing (what little we did see of that world) and it left me wondering about what life was like outside of the Pit, as we are only offered a few tidbits about the world. The idea of the Pit itself is fascinating, and there's actually going to be an El Hoyo/Platform 2 in 2024 and I'm super-stoked, but at the same time apprehensive given that the producers focused way too much on metaphor and less on actual logic.
There were quite a few ambiguities, as well as outright contradictions presented through dialogue from various characters, throughout the movie that added to these questions. I'm not a fan of that intentional ambiguity as I feel it's a lazy move from the people who made the film.
-Trimigasi said that Miharu had a son. Imoguri said she came alone and went into the Pit because she wanted to be an actress. Again, I don't believe Imoguri was lying and the child story may have been started, or shared, by another inmate (possibly Trimigasi's former roommate or people who had lived directly above or below him)
-I believe that the child on level 333 was a hallucination from a Goreng who was dying, or already dead. The wounds he and Baharat received were already severe (as evinced by the clear fact that Baharat died on 333) and the room did not get hot, or cold when Goreng held onto the panna cotta. One could interpret that as 333 being the last level so it didn't matter if people held onto food here or not, but other things here make me believe that he was already dead and the kid was just another hallucination like Imoguri and Trimagasi 'haunting' Goreng after they died.
-Imoguri said the Pit had 200 levels. I do not believe she was lying, as she was the one who admitted people into the Pit – when she woke up on level 202 she was dismayed enough and decided to give Goreng a fighting chance by killing herself. If she believed there were 200 levels, I don't see why the cooking staff would be told otherwise.
-When Goreng and Baharat go on their mission, the people between level 7 and 50 get no food, and many of the people in the lower levels (especially past 150) were dead, so if there were actually 666 meals, there should have been enough food to distribute. However, even with all these people dead, and the upper levels skipped, Goreng and Baharat still ran out of food besides the panna cotta.
Ultimately, I think the VSMC was designed to just get rid of undesirables but in a less obvious way than a gulag or death camp, and those who go into it – criminal or not – do not have feasible choices. Trimagasi chose the Pit over the alternative, and Goreng is a nice enough guy, but society did not give him a feasible way to attain a degree, so to the Administration, one isn't much better than the other, and it's better to let the inmates kill one another than to have them executed in a "normal" way, and it is never mentioned in any discussions between any of the characters that there are people out in the world/society that survived the Pit. (This seems to be a pretty major red flag in itself, but as mentioned the movie is so ambiguous and leaves so many things unanswered…)
Special thanks go to my dear friend Haefaciel who is just as much a fan of this movie if not more than me, haha.
I should stop now before my author's note gets too long, haha. I hope you enjoyed this story!
