Night 52: Projekt Red, Spiced Cystbeast (Beef) Meat Jerky and Malt Sugar Granola Bar
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 walk towards the the Late Night Diner always seemed to be quite long. Gossiping and chatting about the latest news of the land ship had thus became the popular choice among many operators on their way to the Diner.
"Aw c'mon! I told you it was jut a coincidence! Between me and her, we really don't have anything going on!" Two operators just came off their night shifts were gossiping on and off about their relationships when the Lupo of the two suddenly stood still and held his breath.
"What got into you all the sudden? Weren't you just moaning about starving and all?" His companion waved a hand in front of his face. "Aww, don't tell me you just saw your sweetheart and couldn't even move an inch?"
"Shut up! Keep you voices low..." The Lupo operator closed his eyes in a panic. Beads of sweat flowed down from his forehead. "The Wolf Hunter! The Wolf Hunter is there! I'm not hungry anymore! Just...just go yourself!"
His companion took a look at the quiet figure in red hooded jacket sitting before the bar counter, then turned his head back. Only then he had found out that his friend had fled far down the hallway – with his furry Lupo tail squeezed tightly between his legs like a piece of flaccid rod.
"Hey, red hood." The Chef shifted his gaze back from the two at the front gate to the girl before the counter and sighed, though he did not slowed his chopping on the nuts on the board. "You scared away yet another one of my potential customers. Thanks to you, there was not a single Lupo operator dare to step into my establishment tonight."
"Red doesn't understand. Red likes their scent. And their tails." The girl's eyes dimmed somewhat, like a child who just lost her favorite toy. "I can't catch the same scent on grandpa."
"I only carry the smell of kitchen grease on me. You won't like it, I promise." The Chef said, putting the minced walnuts, cashew and grape raisins into a big bowl with other crumbed nuts, then added in quite some roasted oatmeal. "But if I don't carry that greasy scent then how would you get your meals?"
"...Red doesn't know what you mean. Doctor Kal'tsit told Red to come here fore her ration." Red looked towards the nuts and the lump of meat on the kitchen counter and said. "Red is going out for assignments. Red needs supplies."
"Ah yes, I know she asked you to come to me. It'd be ready in a bit." The Chef combined melted malt sugar with honey, then poured it into the bowl of nuts and mixed them thoroughly. He then poured the mixture into an iron pan of two millimetres thick for the shape while it was still warm, and placed it aside for cool. Afterwards he started working on the meat.
He cut the meat into small, finger thick strips, then placed in a large metal bowl and added salt, pepper and cooking wine to marinate. Doctor Kal'tsit had asked him beforehand to keep the salt low for the health and efficiency of the outgoing S.W.E.E.P operators, and the Chef therefore took a pinch of chilli powder and blended it with cumin seeds, dried rosemary and thyme into a fine seasoning powder instead of adding more salt for the flavour. Finally he also put in some crumbed peanuts and sesame. He spread the hand-made seasoning genrously into the metal bowl with the meat strips and waited for it to soak through the meat.
The scent of the seasoning flew into Red's nostril. She rubbed her nose and sneezed. "Grandpa's kitchen smells...weird." She said.
"It's the scent of delicacies. It's good for you." The Chef refuted. Then one by one he put the thoroughly marinated meat strips into a fryer. Tumbling in the hot oil, the pink strips of meat gradually turned into the colour of bright amber. The hot oil brought out the alluring scent of the seasonings, and made it even stronger on the nose. "You can't just have those bland compressed energy bars when you are out and about on field assignments. Last time when Bagpipe visited she brought some Victorian military MREs and to be honest, those...are hardly fit for consumption for anyone with a working tongue. No wonder she wanted to work on improvements so badly."
Red tilted her head on one side and tried to take in what the Chef had just said. She could not understand the bits about "MRE" nor about someone named "Bagpipe", yet she figured out that the Chef was making something tasty. So she once again focused her attention on the smoking fryer, and unbeknownst of herself her tail started to wag ever so slightly.
When the meat strips had done cooking in the fryer, the Chef fished them out and placed them in a tray to be further baked dry in the oven. In the mean time, he started to cut the cooled malt sugar granola into bars and coated them with a thick layer of black chocolate. The meat strips, baked into jerkies inside the oven, took on a brownish-red colour and looked firm and chewy. One could even see the threads of clear meat fibre underneath their surface. The Chef cut the jerkies and bars into smaller portions and wrapped them in wax paper. He then passed them to Red.
"Be careful out there. Oh and always remember to clean your hands before eating." The Chef said and ruffed her head.
Red pondered the Chef's advice, and half-knowingly nodded her head. "Grandpa's rations are delicious. Red likes them." She said.
Projekt Red had always had dangerous assignments. Her fangs are her knives. Kal'tsits often just gave her the name of her target, and she herself needed to track them down and finish the job. When she had at last cleaned her knives of the bloodstains, she would often find herself in some unassuming corner and taking a rest. A gust of wind from somewhere rattled her hood. The scent of wilderness, the howl beneath the starry sky – these she could catch with her eys, ear and nose, along with the somewhat spice yet sweet scent of the rations the grandpa in the Diner prepared for her.
She need them to replenish her energy. She remembered his words and cleaned her hands. The granola bars were sweet, though the jerkies were rather stringy and stuck to her tooth. When all was done, she simply pressed on with her hunt.