The heavy door swings open, the lights flicker on. He is
hungry, and having no time or skill for lobster thermidor,
nevertheless decides to make a masterpiece.
Ingredients tumble
from the shelves into his enthusiastic hands. Just the very basics - an
economy bag of pasta, almost-stale bread, cheap American cheese.
Selecting the plate that looks the least dirty from the rack, he lays
it ceremonially on the sideboard, where it stays, humbly awaiting its
charge.
Ah! What we're missing is music! A quick trip across the
hall, and suddenly the kitchen (indeed, the house) is filled with
something not in the least bit culinary. A mobile phone
now lies dangerously close to the cooker, a modern egg timer. Pasta
twists and turns in the saucepan, half-forgotten, while he sits
pretending not to read someone else's fashion magazine.
When at last the water boils over, he leaves the Lose 7st in a Week
diet in another world, caught up in the quiet joy of sliding warm food
onto a plate. Someone else's pepper shaker and a spillage of ketchup
provide the finishing touches. Suddenly proud, he steps back, admires
his work, takes a photo. Behold! The master chef!
Meanwhile,
the dinner guest steals back across the hall to consume his creation,
and by tomorrow will have forgotten. New recipes, each more disgusting
than the last, will take their place. But for the next few days, the
room will reek of ketchup, and simple bloated happiness.