Soup Night on Union Station

by E. M. Foner

  “Edible,” the Dollnick allowed,

  “Water!” Grace begged. “They’re too hot.”

  “But they’re room temperature,” the Drazen girl protested. “Hey, you’re turning red like a Horten.”

  Twitchy, who had vanished in a blur a few seconds earlier, reappeared with a metal cup of water. Grace filled her mouth and swished the water around, apparently trying to cool her tongue.

  The host sampled one of the Drazen’s cookies herself and smiled. “They are a bit peppery, but I think they’re very nice.”

  “I’m ready,” Brule announced, and brought out a creation that reminded Aisha of a famous leaning tower on Earth that had featured large in a humorous Grenouthian documentary about human construction practices of the Middle Ages. “I layered organic acorn butter to even out the irregularities in the walnut cookies while controlling the bitterness of the oak tannin with chocolate chips. The frosting is made with a non-dairy milk-powder substitute in case anybody is lactose intolerant.”

  “What does that mean?” Grace asked her little Stryx friend.

  “It means that somebody with four arms has been watching cooking shows,” Twitchy replied.

  “Your dessert is lovely,” Aisha said. “It would almost be a shame to break it up and eat it.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll just put it on the mantle,” Brule told her. He carried his wobbly creation over to the fake fireplace and placed it on the mantel where various awards given to the host over the years were displayed.

  “Plynth? Is five minutes up?”

  “Close enough,” the Verlock said, and opening the oven, pulled the baking tray out bare-handed. “I made brownies from an Earth recipe.”

  “They certainly smell delicious,” Aisha said. “I didn’t think you went in for sweets.”

  “Substituted salt for sugar,” Plynth told her proudly. “They’re both white.”

  “I think you better let those brownies cool before you slice them for serving,” the host said, waving back the children. “You know, I don’t want complaints from all of your parents that I ruined your dinners with desserts, so maybe you could just take the brownies home, Plynth.”

  The Verlock shrugged. “More for me.”

  Aisha caught the frantic waving of the assistant director out of the corner of her eye and wondered where the time had gone. “Twitchy told me that while you were learning about the kitchen appliances before the show, you came up with new lyrics to our theme song,” she said to the cast. “Do you want to sing them for our audience?”

  The children formed a double chorus line, with Plynth, Brule and Pietro in the back, and Grace, Binka, Gzera, and Twitchy in the front. The theme music started to play and they came in at the regular point.

  Don’t be a stranger because my egg’s runny,

  Your food’s weird too, but let’s make friends.

  If that apple’s bitter, I’ll give you some honey,

  Everyone likes chocolate, so let’s make friends.

  “I only eat the bitter chocolate,” Plynth added, right before the status lights on the immersive cameras went dark.

  “Cut. That’s a wrap,” the excitable assistant director shouted. “Aisha, the director requests that you stay after the show for a quick discussion.”

  “Am I in trouble?” the host asked, watching as the parents of the children came on stage to collect their offspring and the desserts they had created.

  “I suspect not, given that you’ve got the highest ratings for a children’s show in the galaxy,” the bunny replied laconically. “Besides, he’s coming out of the booth now. If he was planning on yelling at you, he would have asked you to go up there instead. It’s soundproof.”

  “You don’t have to wait around for me,” Aisha said to Grace’s parents, who were busy munching on the cookies their daughter had made with her little Stryx friend. “I know you have to go back to Mac’s Bones anyway to pick up Mike, but this could take more than a few minutes.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me here?” Daniel asked in an undertone. “You know how obsessed the Grenouthians are with rank, and they probably think an associate ambassador is on par with an associate producer.”

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but if you don’t mind waiting, the truth is the director intimidates me a little,” Aisha admitted. “He always seems so angry about something.”

  “I wonder if Mike and Fenna have put poor Kevin out of business yet,” Shaina said. “I think it’s great that he’s willing to give them so much responsibility, but I’m not sure that ten-year-olds have a clear sense of barter value.”

  “I didn’t see any independent traders in the hold when I left this morning so they’re probably just dealing with rental customers looking for snack food,” Aisha said. “Besides, the dogs are always hanging around, and they won’t let anybody walk off with all the stock.”

  “Mrs. McAllister,” pronounced a giant bunny with a golden sash identifying him as the director. “And I’m always happy to have the parents of a cast member show so much interest in our production, especially when one is the co-ambassador and the other employs Stryx Jeeves in her business.”

  Neither of Grace’s parents saw fit to correct the director’s minor mischaracterizations before the bunny continued.

  “In fact, it’s fortunate that you all happen to be together because it may save me a good deal of hopping around. To make a long story short, I was having drinks with our ambassador last night and he pitched me an idea for a new show. The truth is, ever since he brought me the concept for Let’s Make Friends, he’s been trying to repeat his success just to prove it wasn’t a fluke. Most of his ideas have been, shall we say,” the director paused and discretely coughed behind a furry paw, “noncommercial. But this time, I think he’s really onto something, and we’ll need EarthCent’s cooperation.”

  “You want to do a political show?” Aisha asked.

  “A cooking show,” the director said. “To be more precise, an all species cooking show, but as you know, the name is reserved for the All Species Cookbook monopoly.”

  “You couldn’t call it something else?”

  “What would make you comfortable?”

  “Why does it matter what I think?”

  “Because we want you to be the cook,” the director said, and then wiggled his ears to placate his star before she could protest. “I know, we agreed to cut back on your hours at the last contract negotiation, but I can’t help noticing how efficient you’ve become as a professional. We could shoot a one-hour show in the same studio, just a few times a week—”

  “Absolutely not,” Aisha interrupted. “If anything, I’d like to spend more time with my family, and my husband and I are trying to have another child.”

  “Already?” the bunny asked in surprise. “I thought you put at least ten years between them.”

  “You must have us confused with another species. I really appreciate the offer and I do enjoy cooking, but—”

  “Aisha,” the director interrupted, “I want to show you something. Promise me you’ll keep an open mind.” Without waiting for a reply, the bunny made a wind-milling gesture with his left arm, and the lights above the stage dimmed.

  “Beware of aliens who ask you to keep an open mind,” Daniel whispered to the host.

  A catchy theme song with nonsense lyrics that were obviously intended as a placeholder for the future began to play, and then a holographic kitchen materialized, complete with mounds of Earth produce piled high on an old-fashioned pushcart. A small funnel cloud appeared and sucked up various fruits and vegetables into a swirling mass, and then there was a clap of thunder, and the flying produce suddenly spelled out “The All Species Cookbook Show.” Before Aisha could protest, an exact duplicate of herself appeared dressed in a traditional sari.

  “Welcome to the All Species Cookbook show,” the hologram announced in Aisha’s voice, with perfect lip synchronization. “I’m Aisha McAllister and I’ll be showing you how to m
ake delicious recipes from Earth ingredients that all of the tunnel network members can enjoy. Each week we’ll focus on a different ingredient or culinary tradition, so let’s break out our chef’s knives and get down to cooking.”

  The music swelled again, and the whole hologram was suddenly overlaid by text in a dozen languages that translated to, “Insert commercial break here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Aisha said to the director. “You think that audiences want to watch a hologram of me cooking?”

  “Drop ‘a hologram of’ from what you just said and you’ve got the general concept. We won’t tell them.”

  “It’s not ethical and it doesn’t make any sense. Half of the advanced species couldn’t tell the difference between me and another woman standing side-by-side if we were wearing the same clothes. I doubt even you could recognize me in a crowd.”

  “I memorized your markings years ago,” the bunny replied with a sigh. “Listen, Holo-Aisha wasn’t my idea. The studio executives insisted on preparing it as a backup plan for in case the substitute hosts bombed when you went out on maternity leave. It just seems a shame to waste all of that development effort.”

  “How come I didn’t know anything about this?”

  “Holo-Aisha? It’s common practice for all of our shows to have backups available. There’s nothing fraudulent about it,” the director continued, anticipating his host’s protest. “It’s all in the fine print of your contract. If a temporary substitution needed to be made, it would be clearly stated in the show’s closing credits.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t go along with it. Besides, if I was casting a multi-species cooking show, I’d go with a male cook.”

  “But we want a celebrity Human and there just aren’t that many to go around. We’ll give you double the points in the new production,” the bunny offered, though it clearly pained him. “The promotional tie-in is too good for us to sit back and do nothing. Don’t say anything now, don’t even shake your head. Just sleep on it.”

  “My answer won’t change, Director, but if it makes you happy, I’ll talk it over with my family.”

  “Excellent, and our ambassador will be in touch with your embassy about the sponsorship.”

  “You’re willing to help defray the costs of the cookbook?” Daniel asked.

  The Grenouthian leapt backward as if Daniel had suddenly whipped out a weapon. “What? I was talking about EarthCent sponsoring the cooking show, not the other way around. It would be an invaluable promotional opportunity for you.”

  Aisha accompanied Grace and her parents to the lift tube with Twitchy tagging along. The girl and her little Stryx friend kept the adults busy answering questions about cooking, and by the time they reached Mac’s Bones, Grace decided that her father was getting off easy by doing the dishes instead. They all headed for the chandlery where Fenna and Mike were babysitting for Margie while also manning the store for Kevin, who was out in his new bumboat.

  “Did you have any customers?” Shaina asked the ten-year-olds.

  “Lots and lots,” Mike replied. “We ran out of change.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I went home and got my laundry money,” Fenna said, pointing to the glass jar filled with change that she found in the pockets of the McAllister household while helping with the wash. Aisha suspected that Joe intentionally left small denomination coins in his coveralls for that very reason. “Mikey is really good at making change.”

  “Grandpa taught me at Kitchen Kitsch,” the boy said proudly. “I want to be in retail when I grow up.”

  Eleven

  Donna removed the lid from the elaborate tureen that must have cost more than a year of her salary as embassy manager and almost gagged. “What is this?” she asked Czeros.

  “Blood pudding,” the Frunge ambassador said. “My embassy chef made it special.”

  “But blood pudding is actually sausage and this is a soup.”

  “Don’t let the name put you off. It’s best served while it’s still cold. Here, I brought a spoon.”

  “I—it was really thoughtful of you, Ambassador, but I don’t see how this could be safe for all of the tunnel network species, let alone us.”

  “Ambassador McAllister and her husband love it,” Czeros insisted. “Joe always asks if the chef has any prepared when we have a formal event.”

  “Really?” The embassy manager looked at the soup again and shuddered. “Do they eat it just like this?”

  “You have to stir it a little to get the solids floating around, and Joe always adds sour cream.”

  “Sour cream?” Donna repeated, and gambled on a third look in the tureen. “Is this borscht?”

  “You thought I meant…” the Frunge ambassador let out a gale of laughter that sounded like a wood chipper in action. “That wouldn’t be Human-safe at all. No, the beetroots are fresh from the ag deck, and our chef ferments the mixture for several days to get the sour taste. Aabina,” he called to the co-op student who had just emerged from Daniel’s office. “Come and try this.”

  “Oh, that looks yummy,” the Vergallian girl said. “Are you submitting the recipe to be considered for the cookbook?” As she took the spoon from Donna, the doors to the corridor slid open and Bork entered, carrying a baking dish.

  “I was counting on more than consideration,” Czeros whispered, and winked in the direction of the embassy manager. “I don’t need the tureen back, if you know what I mean.”

  “I heard that,” the Drazen ambassador said. “Trying to bribe the editor of the All Species Cookbook is probably a Human crime, but if it’s not, you can count me in.” He set the baking dish on Donna’s display desk and whipped off the foil. “Try one while they’re warm.”

  “My eyes are watering from here,” Aabina said. “How much hot pepper did your wife use?”

  “Hardly any at all,” Bork said. “In fact, I told Minka that everybody would find the stuffing too bland. It’s a mixture of rice, nuts and tomato sauce.”

  “We usually stuff sweet bell peppers for baking, Ambassador,” Donna said. “These look like—”

  “Chili peppers,” Bork confirmed. “I contacted Drazen Foods over the Stryxnet as soon as you invited us to the potluck meeting and they sent me a fresh batch of their hottest variety in the diplomatic bag.”

  “You get a diplomatic bag from Earth? Wait, our diplomatic bag never showed up this week.”

  “Don’t worry, there was nothing in it for you. Aren’t you even going to try one?”

  “I have lots of sampling to do, and I’m worried that it will be so hot that my taste buds will be burned out for the rest of the day,” Donna excused herself. “Ambassadors, I already talked this over with Kelly, and when it comes to the personal favorites that will be published with your names, I only need the recipes. We aren’t going to judge your taste.”

  “Then I’ll keep the tureen and our chef will be in touch,” Czeros said. He picked up the borscht and headed across the lobby for the conference room.

  Bork handed Donna a handkerchief to dry her eyes, replaced the foil over the stuffed chili peppers, and followed in the Frunge ambassador’s footsteps.

  “Do you think I should ping the ambassador to let her know that Bork and Czeros are already here?” Aabina asked.

  “Kelly just ran home to get her contribution to the potluck, so she’ll be back as soon as she can whether you ping her or not,” Donna replied. “She said Aisha insisted on whipping up a few things for her to bring.”

  “Doesn’t the ambassador cook?”

  “She likes baking things with chocolate in them, but other than that, cooking has never been high on her priority list. And please remember not to volunteer for any new projects while you’re in the meeting,” the embassy manager added. “I’m really going to need you the next couple weeks now that we’re in production.”

  A tall alien whose skin was covered with tiny red and blue feathers entered the embassy carrying a picnic basket. “I must have come in the wro
ng door,” he chirped. “Where’s the potluck meeting?”

  “In the conference room, Ambassador,” Aabina told him, pointing at the opening through which they could see Bork and Czeros enthusiastically sampling their own contributions.

  “Who was that?” Donna asked the Vergallian co-op.

  “The Fillinduck ambassador, Tverk. He’s been here before.”

  “Not without an encounter suit. I thought he was allergic to us or something. Kelly is going to be surprised.” The door slid open again, and the EarthCent ambassador hurried in, pushing a small catering trolley. “The Fillinduck ambassador came,” Donna told her immediately.

  “Did I miss him? Am I late?”

  “You’re early,” Aabina said. “He just went into the conference room. Bork and Czeros came early as well. What’s all of that?”

  “You know Aisha,” Kelly said. “Once she gets cooking she always makes enough for an army. The Grenouthians wanted her to do a show.”

  “Do you mean an episode where she cooks instead of the children?”

  “A cooking show for adults. Of course, Aisha told them that she’s already too busy, but you know how persistent the bunnies are when they see a market opportunity. They think that our cookbook launch is going to create a lot of free publicity and the network execs believe that she’s the perfect fit.” Kelly lowered her voice and added, “When Aisha gave them her final answer, the director asked her if anybody else in the family would be interested. The way I see it, the Grenouthians are projecting their nepotism on us. They figure that choosing a host with family connections to EarthCent is the surest way to gain access to the All Species Cookbook brand on favorable terms.”

  “How about my grandson?” Donna suggested. “Jonah is the best cook in the family, and with Samuel and Vivian engaged, he’ll be your son-in-law by marriage.”

  “Is that really a thing?”

  “With the Grenouthians it is,” Aabina explained. “They consider siblings of in-laws as cousins of a sort. You should mention Jonah to their ambassador.”

  “Somebody should really ask Jonah if he’s interested first,” Kelly pointed out. “And you don’t think I should have Aisha bring it up with the director instead?”