A regrettable exercise in point of view

The Chef: “Consider, if you will, the banana.” flourishes “Distinct, sweet, palatable. The food of monkeys.” chuckles

“But a secret weapon? Hmmm? The banana.” peels “So here is how we ready the ambush. When you prepare the sauce to marinate the Fricasea di Pollestri, slice the mushrooms and then the banana, very very thin. So thin in fact, that if you had a quarter inch of white chocolate syrup on a custard plate, you could drop a slice of this banana and it would be completely hidden from view. Vous voyez? The savory sauce must thicken just a fraction of a degree more than normally. The heat of cooking will soften the edges of the fruit, but the pieces must be in tact. The flavor will spread out over the tongue slowly, melding and dancing with the tender flesh of the chicken. Savory.. sweet… firm… melting. Voila!

And when they come- Ha! When ‘Food and Wine’ and ‘Bon Apetit’ send their most finicky, most demanding, most impossible critics… (and what is a critic but a regrettable kind of person who can not cook but can only dream?) When they come, stabbing their forks into my masterpiece, sneering with an obscene anticipation to be disappointed, they will stab a forkful of the dreamy, fragrant banana masked inside the mushrooms and the chicken, and their eyes will WIDEN! Ha! and their forks will still; and I will be the lauded master of all things culinary while they heap praises at my feet and beg for seconds.

swallows a wayward chunk of banana

“Donc là.”

The Banana: “Brrr… it got chilly. Did you feel a chill? Oh god. Something’s touching me. Something’s touching me! It tickles. Heh. Geeze… ha ha ha, hey! What the… OUCH! Stop it! Ouch! Auggh! He’s cutting me, he’s cutting me! Help! Help! ARRRRRRGH! Somebody, anybody, please, please help! Now you’re gonna boil me? You bastard! You fruit hating nazi! You son of a- glurgh mmph glargh fleedle. Gwah! Oggie, oggie..” *gulp*

“Fu-cker.”

The Food Critic: chews, swallows painfully “That… crazy… bastard put a banana in my chicken. And there isn’t any freakin’ water to wash it down with! Jesus H Christ, some days I wish I’d just listened to my ma and become a dentist.”