Cory Joe Lang looked down at his empty place mat. He had a bad feeling about the group's latest action. There had been mutterings about the food before, but this time they'd sent it back untouched. Even he hadn't been prepared to try Chef Magnus' latest offering, and with Velma Hardesty for a mother, he'd grown used to eating just about anything that was put on the table. Usually, anything had to be better than whatever his mother had cooked, but he hadn't been able to get past the smell of the stuff, whatever it was.
He looked around the dining room. Aaron Tyler, the guy responsible for initiating the food revolt, was busy telling his friends Vern Bellamy, Clint Acton and Daly Threlkeld about how this would teach the cook not to keep serving up that kind of junk. Cameron Hinshaw looked as guilty as Cory felt, while Casey Vanorman still hadn't recovered from having his meal snatched away before he finished eating it.
There was a rattle of the door and suddenly a Viking berserker burst into the dining room. Cory slid lower in his chair as Chef Olaus Magnus stormed up to the table, his eyes flashing and a giant meat cleaver in his right hand. "You sent back my lutfisk!" Chef Magnus emphasized the statement by swinging the meat cleaver, burying it into the table. Then he placed his big, meaty hands on the table and glared at the men seated around it. "What is wrong with my lutfisk?"
The fire in Chef Magnus' eyes scared Cory more than the still vibrating meat cleaver. He and the rest of the guys sat mute.
"Well? Answer me. What is it with you people? You eat my stew. You eat the bread and dripping. But when I dig into the measly allowance the army provides to pay for your food to give you my greatest creation, you send it back. You didn't even try it! Was there something wrong with it?"
Cory tried to sooth the savage beast. "There was nothing wrong with it, sir. It's just that it's not what we're used to."
Chef Magnus seemed to be about to accept Cory's peace offering. Until that fool Tyler started playing with fire. "I'm not eating no more stinking, weird . . . foreign stuff. I demand you make us some real American food."
Oh, God. That's going too far. Tyler is so dead. Cory shut his eyes to spare himself the sight of Aaron getting his just desserts.
After a couple of minutes without hearing the sound of a meat cleaver striking flesh, Cory opened his eyes. Aaron was still alive, for now. But Chef Magnus was towering over the cringing Aaron with that meat cleaver in his hand.
"My lutfisk is not 'stinking, weird, foreign stuff.' It is the ultimate in fine Swedish cuisine and deserves to be treated with respect." Chef Magnus drew himself up to his full five foot six and glared at Aaron . "What, may I ask, is this 'real American food' you demand I prepare for you?"
"Hamburgers, pizza, hot dogs, chili dogs . . ." Aaron 's voice trailed off in the face of Chef Magnus' unblinking stare.
Chef Magnus seemed to be a little appeased by Aaron 's answer. He stood in thought for a moment. "Dog." He smiled. "I do a very good roast dog."
There were choking sounds from around the table. A couple of the men giggled. Aaron laughed. Chef Magnus' took a firm grip on his meat cleaver. "I have said something funny?"
Even Aaron , Cory was happy to notice, realized Chef Magnus wasn't happy with the laughter, and kept his mouth shut. "Er, sir. Aaron didn't mean he wants you to serve dog."
Chef Magnus glared at Cory before using the meat cleaver to point to Aaron. "He said he wanted dog. I heard him."
"No. Yes." Cory swallowed. The way that meat cleaver was flashing around made it difficult to think. "We didn't eat dog back up-time, sir. Those are just names for the . . ." He paused, searching for the right word. ". . . meals. Up-time meals. Something we call 'fast food.'"
Chef Magnus brushed back his chef's cap with his left hand and wrinkled his brow. "Fast food? You mean something you eat before Lent?"
"No." Corey shook his head. "Fast food is usually stuff that's quick to cook that you can pick up and eat on the run."
"Fast food that is not food before a fast. Dog, but without the dog." Chef Magnus gave Cory a frustrated look. "Do you know how to make any of these fast foods'?"
Cory hesitated. Back up-time he'd worked after school at the local McDonalds. "I've made hamburgers. They're just grilled ground meat in a steamed bun with lettuce and other vegetables, sometimes with a slice of cheese, and maybe a fried egg added."
"Steamed bun? Why would you want to steam a bun? And what kind of cheese?" Chef Magnus was obviously waiting for Cory to say something, but all Cory could do was indicate his ignorance by shrugging.
Chef Magnus buried his head in his hands. "Why me, Lord? Why me?" He lowered his hands to look at the anxious faces around the table. "If you wish to eat 'real American foods,' then I must know how to prepare them. Do you have recipes?" The men shook their heads. "Do you know anybody who has recipes?" Most of the men nodded. "Good. When I have some recipes, then maybe you will get what you want."
Chef Magnus pushed himself away from the table, straightened his cap, took his cleaver in hand and said, "I am glad we have had this little discussion." Then he turned and made his way to the dining room door. He'd just grasped the door handle when Clint Acton called out, "But what about dinner? What do we eat tonight?"
He turned and smiled. "I have some lovely lutfisk."
Several of the men turned a shade of green. Others suddenly had difficulty swallowing. Cory admitted defeat for them all. "That would be nice, sir."
Olaus gathered his assistants around. "Oskar, Petter. First thing tomorrow, I want you to go around to the American mission and start asking about recipes. Find out everything you can." He smiled at his assistants. "We will surprise these idiots with some of their fast food."
"Herr Magnus, one of them has eaten some of his meal."
Olaus jerked around at the interruption. "What? Someone gave my lutfisk the respect it deserved? Show me."
The servant pointed at the returned meals. There, amongst half a dozen untouched plates, was one that was at least a third eaten. Olaus reached out a hand. There was little heat radiating from the food. He turned to his assistants, an evil grin on his face. "Oskar, replace this plate with hot food. Then take it back to the dining room with the rest. Ask who ate their lutfisk. Give him the plate of hot food. The rest of them can settle for eating the food they so rudely sent back."
Oskar grinned back. "Immediately, Olaus." He loaded a plate with a fresh serving, placed a cover over it, and carried that towards the dining room. A team of servers followed with the remaining meals.
Petter, Olaus, and even the apprentices followed. None of them wanted to miss whatever happened.
Oskar stood at the door, the covered plate held chest high in front of him. "One of you started on their meal. Who are you please?"
Casey Vanorman gingerly put his hand up. Oskar walked round to serve him.
"You ate that stuff?" Aaron was scathing.
"It doesn't taste that bad, Aaron. Not with the side dishes. You're just letting the smell get in the way of the taste."
"How could you get past the smell?" Aaron looked at the meal being placed in front of Casey. "I know it can't taste good just from looking at it. The smell just confirms that. Mom would never expect me to eat anything that smelled that bad."
Casey looked up, finished chewing his latest mouthful, and smiled. "Then you wouldn't have liked eating at home." He grinned. "One year Mom tried us on durian."
"Durian?" Cory asked.
Casey looked across to Cory. "It's a fruit. The Asians call it the 'king of fruits.' But it's a bit notorious for its smell. Mom discovered some in Washington's Chinatown one year and decided we had to try it."
"And . . . ?"
"The first couple weren't so bad, but I think the last one was a bit overripe. Not even Mom would eat it."
"Hey!" Aaron looked from the plate of food that had just been placed in front of him, to Casey's obviously hot food, to Oskar. "How come his food's hot and mine isn't?"
Daly Threlkeld and Clint Acton quickly seconded Aaron 's cry.
"It is simple." Somehow Oskar was able to keep a straight face. "Herr Vanorman was eating his meal when the rest of you sent everything back. So he got a fresh serving. The rest of you didn't even try it. Herr Magnus was most offended." He shook his head and gave the Americans a pitying look. "That was not well done, gentlemen. Please be sure to ring as soon as you are finished. When serving lutfisk, all utensils should be cleaned as soon as possible. Good evening, and please enjoy your meal."
A few smart steps and Oskar was out the door, closing it quietly behind him.
Olaus grinned broadly at Oskar. "Very good, Oskar. That will teach them. Let us return to the kitchen and finish our meal."
"This stinks." Aaron screwed his nose up at the lutfisk on his fork. "Mom would never make me eat this shit. They could at least have reheated it."
Cory swallowed a mouthful. "Give it a rest, Tyler. You're not at home now. Eat it or leave it, but stop complaining."
Cameron Hinshaw loaded his fork. "It's our own fault. It was hot when we sent it back."
Aaron gulped some wine to wash down the taste. "Yeah, well, first thing tomorrow I'm writing home to ask Mom for some recipes for real food." He gestured with his fork to the food still on his plate. "I don't want to have to eat this ever again."
"Yeah, this is a bit extreme." Cory hesitated. "It'd be a waste of time asking my Mom for any recipes. I don't think she ever gave us anything that wasn't frozen or out of a can. But I guess my aunt could help." He surveyed the faces around the dining hall table. "I guess we're all going to be writing to someone in Grantville for some recipes." He looked across to Casey, who had just about cleared his plate. "Except maybe Casey."
Casey looked up. "What? Is someone talking to me?"
Cory smiled. "I just wondered if you plan on copying the rest of us and writing home for some recipes for real food?"
"Oh yeah. Mom's got tons of recipes." Casey looked around the table. "Hey, Aaron, if you don't want your lutfisk, can I have it?"
Cory had to bite his tongue to stop himself laughing at the look on Aaron's face as pushed his half eaten serving across to Casey. How Casey could eat that crap with such obvious enjoyment he didn't know. That he could even think of eating it when it was cold made him shudder.
Casey scraped the food from Aaron's plate onto his own. "Thanks."
"Elisabeth, I'm just off to do some shopping. If my husband should finally show up, please be sure to let him know I'm not happy. This is the second time he's stood me up."
Elisabeth Vendenheim smiled. "Of course, Frau Drahuta. If I see Lieutenant Drahuta I will give him your message."
"Thanks. Tell him I expect to only be a couple of hours. Bye." Belle gave Elisabeth a wave and left the reception room with her two companions.
Oskar and Petter had been just behind Belle when she talked to Elisabeth. Their eyes followed the three women as they left the building. They exchanged looks, and set off in pursuit, their intention of speaking to the receptionist forgotten.
"Frau. Frau Drahuta. Could we have a moment of your time, please?"
Belle, and her sisters-in-law Jana Barancek and Tasha Kubiak turned at the interruption. "Do I know you?" Belle asked.
"No, Frau. We heard the other Frau call your name." Oskar bowed. "I am Oskar Karlsson, my companion is Petter Pettersson. We are assistant cooks in a house used to quarter some soldiers. They have been asking for 'real American food.' Something they call 'fast food.' Unfortunately, none of them know how to make it. Chef Magnus has sent us out in search of assistance. Is it possible you or your companions might be able to help us?"
"These are young male Americans you're catering for, I assume? Tasha asked.
Oskar nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"
Belle grinned. "It was the claim that fast food was real that gave the game away."
Oskar and Petter exchanged confused looks. "Not real? Please, you are confusing us."
Belle gave the two down-timers a sympathetic smile. "Young American males think fast food is real food. Their mothers tend to disagree."
Oskar sighed. "But they will eat it without complaint?"
The three women exchanged grins. "Oh yes. They'll eat the junk. The guy who won't eat that stuff hasn't been born yet."
Oskar gave Tasha a weak smile. "You are sure of this? Chef Magnus was most upset when they refused to eat his latest offering."
Tasha nodded. "I'm a cook in a greasy spoon back in Grantville. Believe me, if you serve what they call real food, they'll clean their plates."
Both Oskar and Petter zeroed in on Tasha. "Greasy spoon?"
Tasha laughed. "It's a name for a fast food restaurant. What is it you want to know? Between the three of us, we probably know enough to help you."
"What are hamburgers? What are hot dogs, and chili dogs? And pizza? What are they and how do you make them?"
Jana smiled. "I see they've covered the essential food groups." She turned to her companions. "I think we should all find somewhere to sit down and talk."
Tasha smiled across the table. "You really shouldn't be pandering to the tastes of your charges, you know. They'll just take advantage of you."
"Yes, Frau Kubiak. But Chef Magnus is at his wits end. They will eat the stews and the soups he prepares, but give them good, honest food and they turn their noses up. In fact, last night was the last straw for Herr Magnus. He presented them with his finest creation, and they not only turned their noses up at it, they returned it untouched." Oskar shuddered. "It was not a pretty sight, Frau. We have to do something."
Belle was outraged. "Give me their names and I'll have words with their mothers. That kind of bad behavior needs to be stopped immediately."
"If any of my boys did that I'd have made them go without." Tasha turned to Oskar. "I do hope you didn't feed them. That would have just been rewarding bad behavior."
"The food they had rejected was returned to them, Frau. Some of them ate it." Petter grinned. "Lutfisk is best eaten hot."
Jana tried to stifle her laughter. "Those poor boys. They can't have known what hit them."
Tasha turned to her friends. "Do you think Oskar and Petter will take up our suggestions?"
"Definitely, Tasha. Can you see their Herr Magnus missing the chance to extract any revenge he can? And making sniveling wrecks of the boys is less than they deserve."
Jana tried to keep a straight face as she protested. "That's just being nasty. Belle. The poor guys can't help it that they don't know beans about cooking."
"I'd love to be a fly on the wall when Herr Magnus interviews the youngsters."
"Same here," Belle answered.
"Me too." Jana nodded. Then she hesitated for a moment. "Do either of you have any idea what lutfisk is?"
Tasha shook her head. "Nope, but I intend finding out. Whatever it was, it must be pretty bad for Cory Joe Lang to send it back."
"Cory? Isn't he Velma Hardesty's oldest?" Jana asked.
Tasha nodded.
"Wow! It's hard to imagine anything could be worse than whatever Velma fed those poor kids."
Olaus looked at the array of books, papers, bags, jars and cooking utensils laid out on the work table. He picked up a set of cups, each smaller than the other. "Standard sized measuring vessels? And measuring spoons?"
Oskar nodded.
"And why would I, a skilled chef, need standard measuring cups and spoons?"
Oskar and Petter exchanged grins. The ladies had made some interesting suggestions. "The women said that the recipes all assumed standard size measuring vessels, Olaus. They suggested that the young men would have no idea how to explain the measurements."
Olaus smiled in understanding. "I predict that the discussion of the recipes they offer could be interesting." He put down the measuring cups and picked up a couple of paper bags. "Sal Aer Fixus and Vin Sal Aer Fixus. What are they?"
"They are cooking powders, Olaus. When added to flour it will rise like yeast bread."
Olaus nodded at Oskar. "Yes, the recipe on the package suggests they are cooking powders. However, it is for something called biscuits. That wasn't one of the foods they asked for."
Petter nodded. "No, they didn't. However, Frau Kubiak says that they wouldn't have thought of it. Biscuits are the sort of thing they will eat if it is available, but it isn't a fast food. It takes more time to prepare than they are prepared to expend. Also, they say it is beyond the capabilities of most American males. We have been provided with a number of recipes, including several for something she called biscuits and gravy."
Olaus picked up a glass jar. "Pridmore's Pride?"
"The ultimate chili powder. Just add according to taste, or in the case of some, lack of taste. It is a collection of hot spices. You add the powder to ground or quartered meat to make what the up-timers call chili."
Olaus randomly opened a couple of the recipe books at the book marks left by the American women. "We shall test these recipes. By the time the young men collect their recipes, we'll be ready for them."
The three men exchanged grins. Then Oskar pushed forward the bag of Sal Aer Fixus. "We were warned that it might be a good idea to have a bag of this available. Apparently the young men have poor control and are likely to eat themselves sick. Mixing a teaspoon of this powder in a mug of warm water makes a draft that will calm their stomachs."
Olaus looked at the bag, then he grinned at his colleagues. "We don't have to tell them we have this, do we?" The subtle emphasis on the last two words told Oskar and Petter that Olaus still hadn't forgiven the up-timers for rejecting his lutfisk.
Chef Olaus looked up from the recipe he had been looking at. "Take two cups of cake flour . . ." He looked straight at Aaron Tyler. "How big a cup?"
Aaron squirmed in the hard dining room chair. He looked around the table for support. Nobody offered to help. "I don't know."
Chef Olaus raised his eyes to the heavens. "And cake flour. Do you know what that is?" Aaron shook his head.
"A teaspoon of baking powder. What is a teaspoon? How big is it? And what is baking powder?"
Aaron swallowed. "I don't know, sir."
Chef Olaus glared. "Is this the best you can do? A set of recipes that you don't understand? If you don't understand them, how do you expect me and my assistants to understand them?"
"Sir?"
All eyes turned to Casey Vanorman.
"Yes?"
"My mother sent me a set of measuring cups and spoons. I don't know what cake flour is, but you can buy baking powder as Vin Sal Aer Fixus. I've seen it in the local shops."
There was an almost tangible sense of relief around the American side of the table. Olaus glared at Casey. "And do you have any recipes to offer?"
Totally unaware that he might have done something to upset Chef Magnus, Casey nodded and pushed forward a couple of booklets. "But they might not be to everyone's taste."
Chef Olaus gathered them up. "Very well, I will visit the shops and see what is available. If you are very lucky, I might be able to put together a meal of what you want. Until dinner then." He dipped his head in dismissal before leaving the room.
Chef Magnus stood watching while the food was brought in. "You have been most fortunate. I was able to find the ingredients for chili. After the effort I have been put to, I expect you to clear your plates."
Aaron Tyler watched the chef leave the dining room, then he returned to the important task of loading his plate. He paused to inhale the aroma rising from the pots of chili. His mouth was watering as he ladled it onto his plate. "Finally! Real food."
"Do you really think it'll work, Oskar?" Olaus asked.
"Of course, Olaus. We know they have been missing their favorite foods. So the first time you prepare them, they will overindulge. Within hours they will be suffering the consequences. The American ladies suggested it could be several meals before they readapt."
"Herr Lang. I must insist that you instruct your men that the army only provides sufficient funds to feed the residents of this establishment. If I am to continually feed your guests I must insist on you providing me with extra funds."
Cory sighed. It had been a pretty good week. At least, it had been after the first couple of meals. Everyone, except Casey, had suffered from upset stomachs that first meal. There had been some rough justice there. Aaron Tyler had been amongst the worst sufferers, but it was his own fault. He'd taken seconds on everything. It'd been a wonder he could waddle from the table that first evening. And that night must have been uncomfortable. There were no flush toilets in their residence. They made do with chamber pots or the outhouse, and in Magdeburg in winter, you didn't want to be visiting the outhouse all through the night. Casey, though, had proved himself a true friend. He'd shared his bag of baking soda with Cory and Cameron Hinshaw.
"I'm sorry about all the guests, Chef Magnus, but the guys have been bragging about how you're serving up really good food, and everyone wants to come over for a meal."
Chef Olaus nodded. "Yes, I understand that, but the money only goes so far."
"Yeah, Chef Magnus. I understand. I'll pass the word. The trouble is, there isn't anywhere else in Magdeburg where you can get stuff like we get here." Cory's eyes lit up as an idea struck him. "You know, Chef Magnus. You should start a restaurant. One that specializes in real American food."
Belle Drahuta stopped outside the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant her husband had insisted they try. "The American Kitchen?"
Ivan Drahuta put his hand on the small of his wife's back and gently guided her towards the restaurant doors. "It's new since you were last in Magdeburg. They opened their doors a bit over a month ago, and they've been doing a roaring trade with the expatriate community ever since. It's run by down-timers, but they know how to make stuff we like. None of that weird stuff most of the down-time cooks insist on foisting on us."
Belle stopped by the door to read a chalkboard menu. "I see they provide all the essential food groups. They even have fries and ketchup."
"Yeah, our very own little piece of America in Magdeburg."
Belle turned to look at her husband, her eyebrows raised. "Piece of America? When they offer Chili Escargot?"
Ivan nodded. "It's not half bad."
"You do know what it is, don't you?"
Ivan gave his wife a wry grin. "Yes."
"You wouldn't touch it that time you took me to that French restaurant in Washington."
"Yeah, but they smothered them in some fancy foreign sauce."
"While this place serves it in chili sauce?"
"Yeah."
Belle shook her head. "I'd love to know where they got the idea of serving Chili Escargot."
"That's easy. They run a suggestion box. They're willing to give just about anything a try." Ivan checked his watch. "Come on, they won't hold our table for ever."
"I wish to propose a toast." Petter waited until Olas and Oskar had topped up their glasses. "To the Americans. Long may they continue to enjoy our food."
"To the Americans." Olaus and Oskar echoed.
After the toast the three colleagues returned to the important job of eating.
Olaus paused, his fork in the air. "I still can't believe that they're willing to pay good money for this stuff." He shook his head. "The American women were right. There really isn't an American male born who won't eat this rubbish."
Oskar scooped up another portion of lutfisk and lefse. "They don't even question what meat goes into those hot dogs. And after they insisted they didn't eat dog."
The three cooks exchanged grins.
Petter placed a piece of paper on the table. "We've got another request for rat on a stick, with chili sauce." He paused to look at his partners. "That's the third request for rat this week. Do you think they're serious?"
Olaus hesitated, and then nodded his head. "They must be. There've been too many different requests for rat. We'll start small though, like we did with the snails. If it catches on, we can think about making proper arrangements with the rat catcher."