Day 27: Minimalist, Roasted Durin Mushroom
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 colours of the flags were mismatched. The style of the structures was grotesque. Plebeians. Did any of the uplanders ever knew proper architecture?
Minimalist sat beside the bar counter. He studied the Summer Carnival scenery and frowned hard to the point his brows almost stood upright. The gaudy decorations reminded him of Zeruertza that he left behind not long ago. He would really like to have a long chat with the set designer of the Carnival, then ask them how they had kept up their sanity when creating works like these and not throwing themselves off the ship.
"Stitch! You...hic...eh boss, another one please and thank you...hic...you are still here staring? S-still got nothing to say?" The young Durin man beside him poked him on the shoulder. "Just look at the way you ogling at the pools. Do you...hic...do you want to fix them into white cubes of yours?"
"Preposterous! I am looking because I think I saw a colleague of mine in the pool. Was just confirming again." Minimalist refuted, while glanced at the large oily patch left behind on his cloth with concern. "Also I need to clarify that not all my works are white cubes. It just happen to be a form that best suited my concept of design!"
His companion answered with an unintelligent hum, then took the mug off the Chef's hand and chugged down the beer. Minimalist still wanted to explain himself further, but he saw the man swaying atop the bar stool and realised he would have a more valuable conversation with an Originium slug. So he twirled the slivery spoon in his hand and sighed.
"Hey you, little guy." The Chef called, moving empty kegs stacked high one by one into a small cart. He looked at the frowning Durin and said "You've been here for an entire morning, want something to eat?"
"You uplander's way of cooking is unnecessarily complicated." Minimalist shook his head. "Your cuisine often destroys the intrinsic flavour of the ingredients. I don't quite like it."
"Huh." The Chef stopped his work. "Didn't know you have a thing or two about cooking. What did you call it? 'The proper physics of things'?"
"It's 'the physical property of things'. Also I think..." Minimalist hesitated. "Never mind."
"Yo Stitch!" an energetic voice called out behind him, then followed by a powerful pat on his shoulder. "Who are you selling your art of architecture to today?"
"Hey Gavial."
"Hello...hic...hello Gavial..."
"H-how are you Gavial? I'm just...just ordering food." Minimalist slowly turned around. He greeted her with trembling voice.
"Stitch was chatting with me about his 'physical property of things'." The Chef said, opening the fridge and taking out the whole beast leg reserved for Gavial. "How's it look? Enough for you?"
"Damn right! You can't never get a good meal this size underground, and I had long craved your barbeque!" Gavial pressed her hands down hard on Minimalist's shoulder. Her eyes beaming with excitement. "Boss, lots of chilli powder please. I'll be waiting over there – Ey Stitch!" She tapped on Minimalist's head before leaving. "Don't you fill your head all day with the idea about redesigning the pools, you hear me?"
"Alright Gavial, I unders – hey why do you hit me again?"
"I'm reminding you to eat well. Your buddies down at Engineering had told me everything!" Gavial said, waving her fist at his face "Don't have me go down there and drag you out myself, yea?"
After she had finally left, Minimalist collapsed on a lounger like his soul had been siphoned. The Chef didn't ask what he wanted, instead just busied himself at the grill. A few minutes later Minimalist caught a striking scent coming from the kitchen. It was the intrinsic aroma of the ingredient like he had emphasized before. It was the pure and primal flavour of the food itself. No spices or seasoning could have accomplished this feat. Minimalist sat up and straightened his back. He cast his gaze expectantly towards the Chef for the first time.
"Although I feel the "physical property" for you architects meant something different for us cooks." The Chef plated the food with a small metal turner, and sprinkled on a pinch of salt and pepper. "I do know what you mean. Here, it's Durin mushrooms. Done with the simplest way possible."
The round mushrooms were roasted on the grill after the stem was removed. Sweet juice seeped out of the mushroom flesh in the heat, and pooled in the centre of the bowl-shaped cap. Minimalist picked one up and took a sip of the juice. The juice from the unseasoned mushroom carried a hint of fresh earthy aroma, and when it slide down his tongue Minimalist was reminded of his past again. He was back in Zeruertza, and before him was the familiar sight of his home. When he chewed into the cap, more juice burst out under pressure. The flesh itself was tender with a slight charred flavour, like a piece of perfectly roasted tallow.
"I have to admit." Minimalist finished up the mushrooms, and passed the empty plate back to the Chef. "This is the best way to pay respect to the ingredient. You must be a great artist."
"Nah. Can't say I am fit for that title. Just an old cook who's been toiling for years, that's all." The Chef said, then waved towards Gavial waiting afar. "Hey Gavial, your barbeque is almost done!."
Upon hearing this, Minimalist curled up in a defensive posture and hold his head in between his arms. The delicious scent of barbequed leg meat flowed into his nose. A plate of mushrooms was not enough, he still wanted more food. Yet sharing lunch with Gavial was out of the question, and he was going to ask the Chef whether he had some other barbequed meat – something like fowlbeast drumsticks – that fits better for the size of a Durin.
And also ask him so he could design a new, better bar counter.