The Food Critic

“How good could it be?” was what Harvey thought, as he regarded the food laid out in front of him. He inspected it carefully. Across the table from him sat a gnarled old woman. She smiled at him, encouragingly.

“Sir. Try. Lovely. Please. Soon, soon.” She said.

Her voice reminded him of the wind as he had walked on one of the paved streets of the District before he arrived at her shack.

“You find. It more. Than hopes. Sure. I am.” Another one of those smiles.

Harvey loved food. He had come a long way for this. A slice of the fabled moonbird. He tilted his head at her, in the manner of those who sometimes consider themselves superior to others due to matters of language and erudition, and he lifted the silver knife into the air. He watched as the light played with the sharp bone handle of the knife.

God, knows what creature became this cutlery, he thought. I have come a long way for this. I have searched long and hard for this. Joanna knows this. I will show those snobbish leatherheads, Epicurean Leaguers. I’ll be damned if I waste this moment.  The moment was to be tasted.

He raised the fork to his mouth. He first inhaled the stuff’s aroma. The scent was light. A tad sweet. And very intoxicating. Harvey waited and steadied himself. I don’t need to hurry.

Harvey had eaten everything there was to be eaten in Lungtown. Things that might make average people like you and me sick. Both literally and violently. He had written about them. He had documented their flavors and smells. He had compiled a diary on the myriad recipes. He had journeyed across the Lungs to taste.

Even the Epicurean League hadn’t laid hands on this. This.. this stuff. The legendary moonbird. Part-bird, part-legend. No one he knew had eaten the stuff. This would show those Epicurean Leaguers.

The tales he had heard were ridiculous  – but if there was even a sliver of truth to them, this would be some fine dinner indeed. He remembered the countless grubby hands he had bribed and he took a first, cautious bite –

Harvey knew that he knew things, like his name and his wife’s name, but at that very moment he forgot everything. Indescribable!

As the taste of that incandescent flesh washed over his palette, Harvey lost himself. He positively shuddered with delight.

*Nothing* In all the years he has given for tasting food, nothing had tasted quite like this. He looked up at the old woman and smiled a sluggish, content grin. He looked at his dish and was startled to find it empty. There was no way he had eaten it all and yet he felt full. He grabbed a goblet of water and drank it in a single draught.

The old woman got up and wiped his eyes with the back of her handkerchief. Harvey was not entirely sure when he had begun to cry.

“Can I have some more?” Harvey asked, like a little kid asking for toffee.

“Surely,” she said, with a motherly smile. She refilled the plate. Harvey tried but he could not. Another empty plate. Harvey licked the plate with his finger in an attempt to find some more of the stuff. Several times the plate was filled, and each time he stared at it as a starving man would but he felt that he had devoured a veritable feast. He was unable to control himself.

The old woman said something that Harvey missed. The old woman said it softly once more.

“This bird. A man. Do anything. For it. No?”

Harvey nodded without hesitation.

Looking at him, she smiled again but this time the smile took on a whole new meaning. Harvey felt the first tingles of what they called creeping, paralysing horror. He felt this fear even as he felt the animal hunger for more of the bird’s flesh.

“Yes. Yes.” The old woman grinned. Her teeth were sharp, almost like fangs. Her black eyes gleamed. She smiled that motherly smile and the floodgates of fear broke inside Harvey as he realized his fate.

“A man. Do anything. For bird. Terrible. Heinous. Jobs. You see. Soon, soon. New slave.”