When one is very hungry, in a pre-starvation response state, with the
metabolism crying out for fuel, presentation of comestibles is a
secondary feature of the dining experience. That is not to say that it
does not remain always of singular importance, though perusers who
have googled 'best meals' may have been surprised to discover a
number of culinary preparations with a close resemblance to the end
product of the digestive process, even some dishes arranged so as to
suggest kouradic deposits - very neat, very well formed with low key
hints at the pressure exerted by the bowel walls of some anonymous
entity which is presumed to have exuded, at least that is the conceit,
the tasty capsules of spinach encased in egg that would have been
so much more inviting in a less suggestive guise, but then there are
always circumstances in which the diner is excited more by the end
than the beginning, for food, like love, is a many faceted experience
and though most of us are attracted by the life giving qualities of both,
there are many who inhabit the other side of life's Mšbius strip; but for
those who are adept at superimposing suggested images upon the
actual object perceived, such morsels tend to be extremely
unappetising even repellent.
My unintended mooning of the royal party had been overlooked for
reasons that were only too evident when I had struggled to my feet
and turned to face the mensal surface where, to my horror, though I
was unable to recognise her distinctive features in such an unlooked
for context, sat, stood or reposed the head of Louise! The horrific
prospect of a form of cannibalism leaves me, as it left me then,
struggling for words to describe the ordeal that appeared to await me,
and my fellow diners. While executing an uncourtly gesture of
horrified surprise (both hands pressed palm inwards against the labial
opening in an effort to suppress an agonised moan), I wrestled to find
an appropriate word. Zoophagy seemed too normal and philophagy
too inexact, and to describe myself as a phagophile might give rise to
gross misinterpretations, especially in the spoken language. But how
can one even think of eating a friend, an act that occurs with
measured regularity in myth and legend though generally the identity
of the consumed is disguised from the consumer, especially one who
has been a companion and preserver through so many adventures?
Louise as an hors d'oeuvre? Louise's tongue turned to pate, her
brains breaded and fried? It was only by confronting the details of this
gastronomic horror that I was able to come face to face with reality.
