New York Carnival

Memory Transcription Subject: Rosi, Yotul Housewife

Date [standardized human time]: November 20, 2136

I wasn't hiding in the back near the oven again. I was just… taking a breather. Stupid barbaric humans! First, one of them grabs me and doesn't let go, and then the next one tries to order an 'ostentatious' meat dish just to be a jerk, but then it turns out that the first human is some kind of… Terran Exterminator or something, and she had the second one arrested?!

"Smoke break?" asked Eddie, only half-paying attention to me.

"Something like that," I said non-commitally, hugging my knees to my chest and breathing. Did humans grow some kind of pipeweed, too, or was he just talking about me sitting near the fish smoker again?

"If it's more of a mental health break, crying in the walk-in fridge is traditional," Eddie commented.

"I'm not crying!" I blurted out. "And I don't need a Predator Disease break. Just feeling a little overwhelmed. Besides, why would I go into the fridge? It's cold in there."

"Hot out here," said Eddie with a shrug. Another double-handful of chopped vegetables went into a steel pan over an open flame. He grabbed the handle with a single hand and bounced the heavy metal pan over the fire like he was juggling its angrily-sizzling contents. "Ah, that's another old saying. If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen."

I took a deep breath. "I can handle it," I said, more than half to myself.

"That's good to hear," said Eddie, grabbing one of the fluffy flatbreads from a pile and warming it up to receive its filling. "Lunch rush is picking up now. It's only going to get busier before it gets slower."

I'd heard the rumors of human stamina. I really hoped they didn't expect me to keep up with them for eight to twelve hours straight. "When does it get slower?" I asked.

Eddie shrugged. "Eh, 2 to 4's pretty quiet, with another slowish hour on either end. Chiri takes a long break then, at least when David makes her." He snorted, as he dumped the seasoned vegetables from the pan into the flatbread, drizzled sauce from a squeeze bottle, and began wrapping it. "Apparently frequent breaks are common in the Federation? She keeps trying to tough it out instead. Not a smart move. Pace yourself, then slowly build up the tempo. Trying to run a marathon all at once isn't brave, it's foolishness."

I squinted. "What is a marathon?"

"Hoo boy," said David, heading back to the kitchen. "Okay, short version, humans have two or three traits that seem kind of unique to us on the galactic stage. Animal husbandry is the maybe, since you guys seem to have tamed a nonsapient species. Good job, by the way!"

I scoffed. "So glad to be appreciated for keeping tamed predators in our homes," I muttered. I meant it sarcastically, but my tail swished a bit at the praise.

David settled back into his station, chopping things with his knife. "Our other two major niches seem to be stamina and ranged weapons," he said.

"Okay," I said, dryly, "so is a marathon a marksmanship contest, or…?"

Again, without looking at me, David shook his head. "Nah. Endurance race. Comes from an old legend about an ancient battlefield victory. This was before long-distance communications, so the victors had to send a runner back to the capital to alert the warleaders about it so they could make an informed decision about what to do next."

I nodded along. I never learned anything about ancient warfare in school, but some of Nikolo's stories helped me put things in context. "Makes sense. My mother-in-law was a pre-contact infantry officer. We hadn't really gotten to cars yet, and there wasn't always a train line near the battlefield. Couriers were common."

David nodded back. "Right. So according to legend, the messenger ran the full distance from the Battle of Marathon to Athens and shouted 'Victory!', then collapsed from exhaustion." David held a cup of water out to me, and I accepted it. It was kinda warm in the kitchen, and the cool water felt calming. I needed calm. Still, wherever he was going with this story, I certainly seemed to believe, based on how he and Eddie were moving, that humans had stamina to spare. "To this day, that distance is called a marathon, and it's a popular test of human endurance." David pulled a charred squash out from an oven near enough to me that I flinched from the heat. "I ran one once. I mean, I lost, obviously, but it was a challenge to even complete it."

I stared blankly at David. "And the distance in question is…?"

David didn't even gesture at his hololenses. "Twenty-six miles."

I choked on my water in shock. "I'm sorry, you, a flipping chef, have personally run twenty-six miles in one go?!"

"Yup," said David, tossing the squash into a blender with various pale seeds and roots. "Takes a bit of practice, but it's hardly the upper limit of human potential."

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"Then what the hay is the upper limit!?" I shouted, struggling to be heard over the blender. "How long can humans run for?"

The blender went quiet, and David tasted its contents. "Indefinitely," said David, casually adding salt.

"You're lying," I said, stunned.

"I dislike lying," said David, running the blender again. "Especially about things you can easily look up online!" he shouted over the noise. The blender quieted once more, and he seemed satisfied with the taste this time. He made a quick gesture to his hololenses. "Yeah, it says the world record for longest time spent jogging is something like three days straight. No breaks, just seventy-two continuous hours, give or take. You kinda need sleep at that point." Utterly horrifying. While I was still reeling from that information, David held out a piece of toasted bread with a bit of white vegetable puree on it. "Here, try this."

If David was going to keep making me taste-test random dishes, I almost felt glad that I'd skipped breakfast. Toast was toast, but the spread was good. Slippery wet texture, but thick, and with a tangy zip to it. "I like it," I said. "What's in it?"

"Eggplant, garlic, sesame…" David's eyes went wide. "Fuck!" He swore, and spun around to stare at me. "I meant to say aubergine, garlic, sesame paste, and lemon."

I glared at him. "Okay. But you didn't. You said Egg-Plant. What even is that?"

David sighed. "It's that big purple squash. It's smaller, rounder, and white when it's first fruiting. Looks like a shrub just started growing bird's eggs. I was trying to avoid using the American English name for that reason. Sounds more predatory than it is. It's just a squash."

I shook my head. Stupid barbaric humans. Ridiculous, the things they came up with, and the things they worried about. Lucky him, to have hired a proper civilized herbivore or two. We could guide him the next time he started worrying about 'Meat-Fruit' or 'Blood-Lettuce' or whatever other ridiculous names humans assuredly gave to their produce. "It's startling and it's weird, but people kinda expect that of humans at this point. I think you should just be up front about it. It's more suspicious if you try to hide it."

"Duly noted," said David, nodding. "Alright, so baba ghanoush, we'll try to add that to the menu soon. Bruschetta, too, even if that's a bit light. Hummus, obviously. Chutneys or banchan, maybe, but those usually get paired with rice or dumplings, not bread…" He tapped the counter, thinking aloud. "What am I missing?"

He hadn't explicitly been talking to me, but surely this was part of why I'd been hired, right? "What's the flavor profile on those dishes?" I asked.

"Banchan are Korean pickles and side dishes, more or less," said David, still tapping the counter. "Hummus is a creamy bean dip from around the same parts of the world as the baba ghanoush. Chutney's Indian, but it's a condiment, not really a dish. It's like halfways between jam and salsa."

"Couldn't hurt to do chips and salsa," offered Eddie. Neither human was looking up as they worked.

David shook his head. "It's still not a main. Guacamole, maybe?"

"Not complaining, but not really a main, either," said Eddie. "Gotta at least go as far as chilaquiles or something. Or fuck, man, you're American. Why you gotta overcomplicate things? Just do nachos."

David tilted his head, considering. "I could do nachos," he agreed. "Vegan queso's easy enough. You think they'd eat it?"

I rubbed my temples, trying to keep up with the conversation. I think he'd mentioned vegan queso somewhere before. That was… fake cheese sauce? "I doubt it," I said slowly, "but again, what's the flavor profile?"

David shrugged. "Tangy, savory, bit creamy."

"So the exact same as all the others?" I asked, squinting at David in confusion.

David froze, mid-tap, and turned around to face me. "What do you mean?" he asked, confused. "What flavors should I be showcasing for you guys?"

"Sweet!" I practically shouted. "The maple-glazed sweet potato was a great choice. Do more of that. I thought you guys keep claiming to be descended from frugivores. Show off your jams and… nut spreads or whatever."

David stared at me. No, technically, he stared off into space vaguely near me, in intense thought. I took a few nervous steps back all the same. Then he pulled out a jar of something dark brown, spread it on one of his toast squares he'd been experimenting on, and held it out to me.

"There's no dairy in this, right?" I said, squinting suspiciously at his offering.

"Hasn't been since the 2050s," said David, shaking his head. "They took the real dairy out to save money."

"Gone the way of the twinkie," said Eddie, solemnly.

"No dairy, no meat, no eggs. Never will be, not without your permission," said David. "You could get arrested for that back home, right?"

My ears pinned back as I grimaced. "Something like that."

"Yeah, not doing that, then." David gestured the little brown-spread bit of toast towards me. "Try it."

I picked it up, sniffed at it suspiciously. It smelled a little like the mole sauce from last night, but mellower. I took a careful bite. Oh my goodness! It was sweet, it was creamy, it was fragrant with the scents of toasted nuts.

"This is delicious!" I said, stunned. "This is the best thing you've ever served me!"

David's face fell. He looked like I'd just shot his dog and told him to clean it up himself before the body started spreading Predator Disease. "Rosi, that's store-brand Nutella."

I wasn't entirely sure which part of this had offended him, but… but surely this was the best business opportunity available, right?

"How do you make it?" I asked.

"I don't," said David. "It's hazelnuts, cocoa powder, sugar, and any oil that's solid at room temperature. It's not worth making. I can just buy it at the store."

"Something that good, surely it's at least a luxury item?" I tried.

David picked up the jar and stared at it bleakly. "You can get a one-pint jar and a whole loaf of sliced bread for less than what I charge for a sandwich." He put it in my paws, and I clutched onto it by reflex. "Take it. I don't even care anymore." He rubbed his eyes, exhaustedly, went into the fridge, and closed the door behind him.

Sylvie stuck her head back into the kitchen. "Hey. Rosi. Break's over. Where's David? It's picking up out front, and people keep trying to order off-menu."

I stared at the jar of Nutella, dumbfounded. "I think he's crying in the walk-in fridge?"