Night 9: Executor, Tiger Skin Cake Roll, Caramel Pudding, Strawberry Mousse, with Black Coffee
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.
There was no predictable pattern to the Diner's customer flow. Sometimes the Chef had prepared a feast worth of food yet was met with a severely underwhelming night shift schedule. It had happened enough times that made him wonder for solutions. He had at one point considered offering some "incentives" to those elite operators at Human Resources. He wished that, for the sake of the Late Night Diner, they could fill the night shift schedule to the brim.
Of course, the "incentives" would come in the form of discounts.
Even so, there were still some constants regarding to the type of the customers. Whenever the Chef had prepared pastries and other sweets, the first ones in line were always Sanktas as if they had an ingrained sweets detector. When they took the plateful of cake and biscuits off the Chef's hands, even their halo would glow brighter.
This had also made others voicing their displeasure on the ship-wide online bulletin board. Others who had missed pastries sales in the Diner.
Can they use that 'empathy' of theirs to tell each other about fresh pastries in the Diner like some sort of hive mind?
To OP, we Sankta can only share the momentary joy of eating pastries. Nothing concrete like "Cake night at the Diner".
Whatever. As soon as you spot one in the Diner, there's gonna be a bunch coming over in next minute and half.
Honestly the Chef should limit on how much pasty one can buy at a time. Please, just leave some for us night-shifters. I just want to feel better with something sweet and make it through the night...
Executor, one of the most impersonal operator of Rhodes Island, surprisingly shared the same fondness for sweets just like his fellow Sankta. His choice for snacks tonight was a slice of tiger skin cake roll, a lump of caramel pudding, and a square of strawberry mousse. No Sankta, or rather anyone at all, would looked troubled before a table full of treats. But his worried expression told a different story. To someone unfamiliar, they would think it was some kind of torture to a diabetic.
Which cake should I eat first? Pondering, Executor pried off a small chunk from the cake roll and sent into his mouth. Tiger skin cake roll was made with two layers. The "tiger skin" that gave the cake its name on the outer layer was made with whipped egg yolks, sugar and starch powder. The inner layer was regular chiffon cake. In-between was vanilla cream. When all three parts were assembled, the cake would be rolled up and refrigerated for shape. Biting down, the supple tiger skin and soft chiffon cake along with the cooled cream would leave an instant impression. Executor chewed the piece thoroughly, feeling the pleasant flavour of cream and vanilla spreading in his mouth.
There was a rumour going on about Executor. It was said that he would strictly follow a rule he set for himself. Whenever he ate, he would chew the food exactly thirty times with each side of his mouth. To clarify, it was not wholly accurate, at least not when he was having pudding. The pudding, freshly out of the fridge, still had a thin cloud of cold mist around caramel syrup on top had become thick and gelled by the cold. It formed a perfect circle. Executor took off a small portion with a spoon. The piece was firm in texture with no visible air bubbles – the result of mixing milk, cream and egg in precise proportions, and through multiple filtrations to ensure no impurity in the fluid. The soft pudding swayed on the spoon, as if enticing him to eat it whole in one bite. He could smell the rich fragrance of milk, and after sending into his mouth, the smooth texture with lingering chill would almost make the piece pass effortlessly from the tip of his tongue down into his throat. Caramel dissolved easily in his mouth, perfectly balancing the slightly bitter sweetness with the flavour of egg and milk. It was little wonder that puddings had claimed its spot on top of the "Laterano List of Must-Have Sweets".
Executor heard rustling coming from a nearby table. It was several girls taking peeks at him while trying to act natural. Usually, they would come by and ask him if he had time, then invite him for a few drinks to the bar, and talk about matters of little significance in their daily lives. After about a week of such activities, they would finally give up in disappointment. With a gaze reserved for viewing nice-looking statues, they would softly proclaim their frustrations and say something on the line of "maybe a drink again sometime later."
But it turned out that they were all so busy. Nobody had ever invited him for drinks again.
Executor picked up the spoon. He didn't want to be interrupted by the girls while having his mousse cake.
The strawberry sauce the Chef used had always been prepared by hand. He never used canned alternatives. Soften the cheese and cream with heat then stirred apart with added sugar. Pour in milk with gelatine and whipped light cream. Then put in the thick strawberry sauce. After it was done, place everything on top of the base made from chocolate cookie crumbs and cut into small squares. Finally sprinkle some dried strawberry powder atop its pink exterior.
The cake had an unique light yet firm texture to it. Just a simple taste would make it melt into a smooth, sour-sweet jelly. Then came the texture of strawberry pulp and the hardness of the cookie crumbs, and the rich aroma of cheese intermingling with that of the fresh fruit.
"Mister Chef, a cup of black coffee please."
Toning down the sweetness with something bitter seemed to be a good idea. If the coffee came swiftly, maybe he could finish his snacks before the girls decided to invite him for a drink.