The Origin of Recipes

by Joey Peters

 

  "Could I get a statement?"

  * * *

  Mr. Asparagus sat on his Asparagus shaped throne.

 

  Around him sat the fruits of his... super... heroic... career. An asparagus shaped car. A giant penny with asparagus on it instead of Lincoln. You know, the classic stuff.

  He pulled up TMZ on his computer, then searched for his name.

  No mention.

  Mr. Asparagus googled himself. The news stories listed across the page were all weeks old.

  He had been doing this every night for a week straight.

  When he started out it was easy. Save a cat from a tree and all the superhero blogs think you're the Pope—or, if you're a lady, the Mome.

  But interest in Mr. Asparagus had dropped precipitously.

  He had to do something big—something that would grab the attention of at least Beantown City. But what? Mr. Asparagus wondered.

  He couldn't think of anything.

  Mr. Asparagus needed inspiration. He turned on the TV. Instantly, he saw something that helped.

  The lantern jaw of WBTC TV anchor Simon Simon filled the screen.

  He was one of the most imposing figures on TV. He tried to hide it with ill-fitting suits, but he had the body of a world class athlete. His hair was a carefully preened mop of black with strange blue highlights that showed up in nearly any lighting conditions.

  "Tragedy struck at an All Stone eatery today. A young man came in here today, intent on having all-you-can-eat tacos—but all he could eat was death!"

  The camera suddenly cut to the face of an old man. He looked pained. Deeply hurt. And he seemed vaguely familiar to Mr. Asparagus.

  He snapped a picture of the man with his phone.

  "Taqueria owner, Thomas Cryten, had this to say."

  "Look," said the old man, "It's a true tragedy. My heart goes out to the boy's family and friends. I don't know if I should keep my taqueria open..." The pain in the old man's voice sounded genuine, but Mr. Asparagus didn't care.

  He did a reverse search for the image he snapped in a supervillain database. Immediately a result came up: Professor Black Hole.

 

  A snarl curved over Mr. Asparagus' face. Immediately, a plan formed in his head. He was gonna unmask Professor Black Hole and insinuate that he was involved in the fat kid's death. You know, more than incidental manner. Of course, he presumed the professor's innocence, but just didn't care.

  He didn't know the truth.

  * * *

  At first Candyman didn't know where he was going. He just took footstep after footstep. He felt cold deep inside.

  After the first hour he developed a theory. After the second hour of walking he was certain. He was walking toward the Buddhist temple he was sent to when his monastery first gave him the boot.

  He'd kept walking for a couple reasons. First of all, he wanted to clear his head. Walking a long way can help with that.

  By there was another reason. You see, the Beantown City transit system was run by straight up supervillains. Their boss was literally Hitler's reanimated brain in a jar. The bus schedule was based of an evil form of Voodoo. The only way to figure out the time of the next bus was to throw chicken bones and summon the loa Steve—the powerful but lesser known Voodoo spirit of public transportation..

  And since Candyman was a Buddhist monk and not a Voodoo hougan he was out of luck.

  Finally, though, Candyman reached the temple.

 

  He forced himself up the stairs and eventually he reached the front door. He pulled back the door knocker—a Chinese dragon—and slammed it down. A loud ring echoed through the building.

  Candyman did not instantly hear noise inside, so he slammed the knocker again a few seconds later.

  This time he heard footsteps and grumbling. The monks Video Games and Mountain Dew opened the door a crack and stared at Candyman.

 

  "Dude," said Mountain Dew, the fat one, "What's the deal?"

  "Seriously, son," said Video Games, "We were contemplating the suffering of modern life, or whatever it is Buddhist monks are supposed to do."

  "I need your help," said Candyman.

  "It's five A.M. dude," said Mountain Dew.

  Video Games and Mountain Dew came from the same monastery as Candyman. See, they had a tendency to name adherents after whatever it was they desired most. They weren't quite as bad as Candyman, but Video Games was the seventh worst Buddhist monk in the world and Mountain Dew was the twelfth worst. That particular monastery sent an awful lot of "missionaries" off into the world.

  Candyman's parents originally heard about the monastery from two monks named Pet Rock and Ill Conceived Mustache. It was the early 1980's.

  "My best friend just ate himself to death," said Candyman.

  Video Games and Mountain Dew made eye contact. A wave of unspoken communication passed between them.

  "Dude," said Dew, "You only feel bad on account of your attachment to the world. Let it go and stuff."

  "It's your own fault," said Games.

  Candyman groaned.

  "You're the worst Buddhist monk in the world," added Dew.

  "At least I'll have competition next year," grumbled Candyman.

  Chapter Five

 

  Rob stepped through Death the Doorway last chapter. It's time to finally reveal what happened to him afterward.

  The bone door spun easily at his touch. He passed through Death—but found himself at the same silver wall in the clouds that he left.

 

  "Hey," said Rob, "What gives? I haven't moved an inch."

  Death said, "YEAH, ABOUT THAT... YOU'VE BEEN DEAD LONG ENOUGH. TIME TO GO BACK."

  Rob said, "Go back? But death's a one way deal, at least for non-superheroes."

  "CONGRABUALSA," said Death, kindly.

  The clouds vanished under Rob. Instantly, he fell through the inky blackness of the land of the dead.

 

  He was falling an impossibly long distance. Minutes paused. Then hours. Just as Rob was about to get bored though, he felt pain.

  His entire body was incredibly stiff—as if he hadn't moved a muscle in days. The air tasted fetid and musky.

  At first, Rob thought he was still falling, but he gradually realized that he was laying on a concrete slab. The blackness that he saw was different from the infinite ghostly dark of the after world. He tried to move, but realized that he was in a black vinyl bag.

  A body bag.

  Rob panicked. He struggled against the bag, but he just barely big enough to fit. He could move his hands merely a few inches.

  He cried out, "Help! Is anybody out there?"

  "Shut up," said a voice, coldly.

  "I'm alive! Why am I in this bag?"

  "Alive? I'll be the judge of that," said the voice.

  Rob felt relieved for a moment, but the coroner did not immediately approach him. Rob gave him a few seconds, then a minute. But the coroner wasn't any nearer.

  "Uh, dude," said Rob, "Are you coming?"

  The coroner said, "I am busy. I'll have a look at you when I'm ready."

  Rob balled up his fists. Every passing second in the body bag made him more nervous. The tickle of fear crawled up his spine.

  And then—

 

  Energy poured out of Rob's hands. The vinyl body bag exploded. The harsh light of the morgue immediately blinded Rob.

  Gradually, the white flash in Rob's eyes faded and color flooded into his vision. The colors took their sweet time coalescing into recognizable forms.

  A coroner stood over Rob and stared down with cold blue eyes.

  "Nice trick with the ground beef," said the coroner angrily.

 

  Rob's eyes darted over the room. Splatters of ground beef stuck to every surface in the morgue; the other slabs, the other body bags, and the huge cabinets that held dead bodies.

  The coroner snatched up Rob's
wrist.

  "No pulse," he said.

  The coroner wrapped a blood pressure gauge around Rob's arm and pumped up the bulb.

  "No blood pressure either," said the coroner, "You're dead."

  "Well then how am I talking to you?" said Rob.

  "Gas escapes from dead bodies all the time. It makes lots of weird noises."

  Rob said, "But I'm intelligently reacting to you."

  "Okay," said the coroner, "Maybe you're a zombie."

  Rob pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. He did not feel cold.

  "I think I'm too warm to be a zombie," Rob said.

  "Fine, don't believe me. I'm only an expert."

  "Cool. I don't," Rob said. Gradually he realized that he was naked. Everything he had with him at the taqueria was gone. He added, "Dude, where can I pick up my stuff?"

  "Down that hall," the coroner said and pointed at an exit, "Second door on the left."

  * * *

  Candyman sat in front of the temple, folded in the crane stance. He watched the front door placidly.

  Hey, it was a better plan than going back to the apartment and gorging himself.

  He sat motionless for hours—that is until his cell phone rang.

 

  Immediately he wondered who it could be. His best friend—his only friend, really—had just died. He didn't have work for another twelve hours. And his fellow monks? Yeah right.

  He pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at it. The call was coming from Rob's phone.

  Candyman hit the green icon.

  "Candyman!" said the voice on the other end of the phone. It did sound a lot like Rob.

  Candyman said, "You can't be Rob. He's dead."

  Rob said, "Not you too. Look, I was dead but I got better."

  Candyman said, "That's completely insane. Only superheroes can come back from the dead."

  Rob touched his nose, but then realized Candyman couldn't see him.

  "I just shot some taco out of my hand. I think I have super powers now."

  Candyman said, "what" Exactly like that, all lower case. No punctuation.

  "Can you just get a taxi and come pick me up. I'm at the Beantown City morgue."

  "I—" began Candyman, "Okay."

  * * *

  Mr. Asparagus plowed down the road in his hulking, monstrous vehicle that strongly resembled a stalk of asparagus with wheels.

  Tourists and onlookers exploring Beantown City stared slackjawed and amazed. One lady in particular seemed completely and utterly confused.

  Did Green Gorilla have to deal with this kind of crap? Mr. Asparagus wondered.

 

  "Branding," Mr. Asparagus muttered, as the light turned green and he gunned the engine. Vast plumes of steam poured out of the rear of the Asparagusmobile.

  Steam was more eco-friendly than the smoke machines inside most superhero cars... but don't be fooled. He really had the steam release installed so he could save money on liquid smoke.

  This was why he needed to fulfill his plan. Why were the Pinnacle and Green Gorilla household names, while Mr. Asparagus was spoken in the same breath as a janitor's name?

  The Asparagusmobile roared down Commonwealth Ave at seventy miles an hour. The police didn't usually bother to stop anybody in a really stupid looking car unless there were actually other people on the road.

  As he approached the taqueria he turned hard and slammed down the brakes. The Asparagusmobile did this totally sweet spinning stop thing and landed immediately in front of the restaurant.

  Crested in a plume of steam, Mr. Asparagus slowly stepped out of his car.

  He saw two kids standing in front of the coffee shop in the corner. He yelled, "Hey! Can you call WBTC TV and tell 'em something exciting's gonna happen here in a half hour or so?"

  One of the kids said, "Why don't you call them yourself?"

  Mr. Asparagus said, "They won't take my calls anymore..."

  * * *

 

  Out of Rob's personal effects the only thing that wasn't ruined was his phone. His clothes were shredded in the back from the efforts to lift Rob's body with cranes and hyper dollies.

  He quickly realized that he should have told Candyman to bring him a change of clothes.

  But... maybe he could use this as a chance to test his powers.

  He focused for a moment. Could he form taco-matter on an at will basis? He imagined a bead of ground beef forming on his palm.

 

  He felt a tingling sensation just where he imagined the beef. A tiny spray of beef poured out of his hand.

 

  Okay. He could do beef. What about other taco-matter?

  He focused on his forearm. He imagined a soft tortilla sleeve forming around him. Seconds later the same tingling sensation overtook his arm. A sleeve of corn tortilla formed around his arm.

  Next, Rob tried a full wardrobe. He imagined a wheat tortilla shirt, along with corn tortilla slacks and a trench coat. But it still wasn't complete. He formed shoes from a thick pad of wheat tortilla and a hard shelled corn tortilla and completed the look with a hard shell taco fedora.

  Rob tried to think of a way to form sour cream, lettuce and salsa into a mirror. He wanted a look at his sweet new wardrobe. Unfortunately, he couldn't figure out a way to make it work.

 

  Finally, though, the front door swung open and Candyman appeared.

  His eyes shot over to Rob. His first instinct was to say, "You're alive!" but somehow this came out as "You're dressed like an idiot."

  Rob grimaced.

  "Anyway—you have no idea how glad I am to see you're not dead anymore. Let's go."

  Chapter Six

 

  Mr. Asparagus leaned on the side of his car and waited.

  Those kids really didn't want to call WBTC TV for him. No amount of brow beating or begging would change their minds. Ultimately, Mr. Asparagus had to bribe them with twenty bucks.

  But finally the news van arrived in front of the taqueria. A small ginger college kid popped out of the van and played with a video camera.

  Famous news anchor Simon Simon poked his head out of the van, and, when he saw the Asparagusmobile, sighed.

  "Dude, dude," said Mr. Asparagus, "I've got something that's actually cool. Don't be like that."

  Simon Simon said, "Okay, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Timmy? Start rolling."

  Mr. Asparagus spun around on his heels and faced the taqueria. He took two steps toward the front door in as dramatic a manner as he could manage, then he spun around again to face the camera.

  "There are many kinds of evil in the world... cosmic gods of evil that shake the foundations of reality with their enmity for all life..."

  Simon Simon whispered, "The god of evil is actually dead this week."

  But Mr. Asparagus continued, "There are mad scientists who ask questions mankind was never meant to ask, such as can you make a dude who's half asparagus, but still all man?"

  Mr. Asparagus winked at the camera and blew a kiss.

 

  But back to Mr. Asparagus.

  He said, "But the greatest evil of all comes from common man and his inhumanity to his fellow man. That is why I have come to this taqueria. I have come to unmask the greatest evil in Beantown City. A man who sells fat and grease to our children and calls it nutritious. A man unafraid of filling our bellies with empty calories..."

  Mr. Asparagus stepped over to his Asparagusmobile. He pulled out a megaphone and faced the taqueria.

 

  "I know you're in there..." he began, "Come out and face me, Professor Black Hole!"

  The call echoed through the neighborhood and looped back around. Simon Simon and his cameraman watched incredulously.

  "Yes!" screamed Mr. Asparagus, "The same Professor Black Hole who has faced down the Pinnacle and Green Gorilla. The very same Professor Black Hole who defeated the one true Puttyman—the second one."

  Inside the
restaurant Professor Black Hole heard him. This was too much. He was already struggling with guilt. He killed that fat kid, of course he didn't know that Rob got better. And now a superhero had linked his former villainous identity with the crime.

  Did this Mr. Asparagus really think the professor was that dangerous? He was laying it on a little thick, but the professor wanted to believe.

  He didn't want to believe he was just some two-bit loser doomed to failure. Perhaps his attempt to create a legitimate business was badly thought out.

  Maybe Professor Black Hole really was a competent supervillain. Maybe he could defeat this Mr. Asparagus...

  No. That was a crazy thought and Professor Black Hole knew it.

  But this Mr. Asparagus would undoubtedly give the professor the beating that he knew he sorely deserved. He began to suit up.

  "The silent majority of healthy eaters can no longer suffer the slings and deep fried arrows of your terrible nutrition. We will have no more sour cream on our hands! Professor Black Hole," said Mr. Asparagus, "Come and face healthy justice."

  By now Mr. Asparagus had been calling Professor Black Hole out for about ten minutes. Timmy, Simon Simon's cub cameraman and intern had long since given up hope. Simon Simon himself watched with bland boredom on his face.

  "Okay," said the reporter, "I gave you your shot. Next time I'm just going to turn around when I see your silly asparagus car.

  "The Asparagusmobile," corrected Mr. Asparagus.

  Timmy reached for the cables to his camera. Exactly a half second later the front door crumpled up and vanished with a strange lensing effect that soon faded.

  Professor Black Hole stepped out of the restaurant. He was dressed in his classic supervillain uniform and holding his black hole gun.

 

  * * *

  The taxi zoomed through the streets. Both Rob and Candyman felt a strange electric feeling in the air.

  "So," said Candyman, "What's death like?"

  Rob said, "He's a revolving door."

 

  "Well, obviously," said Candyman, "I mean like, what's it feel like to pass beyond the mortal veil? To know the unknowable?"

  While Candyman was the worst Buddhist monk in the world, he was still Buddhist. He believed that when the body dies the spirit gets reformatted and downloaded into a fresh one.

  And the world he lived in was different from ours. Somehow, in some inexplicable fashion, every religion was kinda true, even when it contradicted with aspects of other religions that were equally true and contradictory. You know, so that it wouldn't step on any of my reader's toes, be they Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Taoists, Discordians, Jews, Atheists (and believe me, making that one overlap took a lot of world building, believe you me) or ancient Vikings.