Memory Transcription Subject: Chiri, Gojid Refugee

Date [standardized human time]: November 2, 2136

Heading downstairs to the restaurant wasn’t nearly as bad as the subtly implied threat that, some hours distantly into the future, I’d have to climb back up again. But I followed David down nevertheless, and so did Toki. That was the way of humans, it seemed. Even pre-contact, they were very used to having furred and besnouted creatures following them around. Humanity probably would've fit into the Federation beautifully, were it not for the (evidently baseless) concerns that they were going to start tearing people apart with their teeth.

Well, I got to taste all the wonderful Earthling foods, and the Federation at large didn't. Their loss.

Are we still in the Federation, or does going native on Earth qualify as a defection? asked the odd voice.

Good question. Are the Venlil still in the Federation?

That's another good question, said the critical voice.

I spared a glance for the bar I'd be working and learning at today, but, at least initially, I followed David into his kitchen. I could see him pretty well from the restaurant tables, but I wanted to watch him up close as he got started.

“First let's get the dough rising,” he said, pouring flour into a bowl with water and some kind of fragrant vegetable oil. “Gonna go pizza dough style. Nice and chewy. Very New York.”

“Point of order: what's pizza?” I asked.

David perked up. “Well, probably dinner tonight,” he said excitedly. “Practically the official dish of New York. Chewy flatbread, topped with tomato sauce, topped with fresh mozzarella cheese, topped with whatever you like. Maybe we'll do some vegan sausage and mushrooms. Then you bake the whole thing until it's toasty and melty. It's delicious.”

I chuckled to myself like I was part of some nefarious scheme. “Nyeheheh. Yet another delicious Earthling delicacy falls into my devious alien grasp.”

David grinned back. He held a hand hovering by a shelf, then grabbed a box on a whim. “I’ll stick with instant yeast for the first batch, but I might want to consider other types for flavor. There used to be an old bakery in Manhattan that would use wild yeast or even yeast from wine.”

Yeast translated smoothly, thankfully. You don't inherit a generational winery like Garnet Orchards without knowing what turns your fruit juice into an interplanetarily popular brand of social intoxicant. Yeast was just this biosphere’s magic microorganism. We had a different one back on the Cradle, but if it turned sugars into alcohol, it was all the same. “I'm mostly curious why you're adding yeast to bread,” I said aloud.

“The air bubbles are where the fluffiness comes from,” David said, looking at me curiously. “Why, what do you guys use?”

I shrugged. “Baking powder, I think? I'm not a baking expert, but wouldn't the bubbles just escape?”

David shook his head. “Wheat is a high-protein grain. It gets tacky and holds together once you've agitated it enough.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. Human protein requirements are probably pretty high.”

David raised an eyebrow. “What, because we're predators? I mean, yeah, but so are you, kinda. I wonder if you've been getting enough protein in the Federation.”

Oh my gods, we might be malnourished, said the odd voice with an unexpected tone of rising excitement. What if Gojids are meant to be stronger? We could be the first of our kind to reach our full potential! We should eat more protein right now.

I was still full from breakfast, but now I was curious. “Maybe! What are good protein sources on Earth?”

David chuckled. “I mean, meat and eggs are the obvious ones, but no dice there. Dairy is going to take you a long way, though. Seriously, bodybuilders are all in on things like whey protein supplements. Beyond that, beans and certain grains are going to be high in protein. There's a reason why most human peasant dishes--foods eaten by people who couldn't reliably afford meat, historically--tend to boil down to ‘local bean with local grain’.” David worked the dough forcefully with his powerful hands as he spoke, slowly turning it into a sticky putty. “Before the bioreactors started up, half the world was still eating beans and rice. Pintos and short grain in the Americas, lentils and basmati in India… China used a lot of tofu, from soybeans, and even the middle east was pretty big on chickpeas and pita bread.” Satisfied, David covered the bowl of dough with plastic wrap and set it aside.

“So what goes on this bread?” I asked.

“That's the question,” said David. He tapped his foot in thought. “Again, it's just me in here. I need something I can pre-prep in the morning, then just spoon out to serve during lunch.” He opened one of his giant fridges and stared into it. I peeked around him, and a room-sized bounty of fresh produce stared back. “You said sweet flavors were popular in the Federation?”

I nodded. “Absolutely. Sugar, fruit, even lightly sweet starchy things like squash and tubers. They’re all big movers.” I paused for a long moment. “Do you guys not do desserts? Sweetest thing I've had on Earth was a shot of Baileys.”

David nodded over to a corner of the fridge. “We do dessert, I'm just not a specialized baker. There's some vegan blueberry turnovers from the store if you need a sweet snack.” He kept tapping his foot in thought like a Nevok as he looked in the fridge for inspiration. “Let's go tropical first, see where we're at. Maybe a Thai curry with fruit in it.”

He started fetching ingredients to put into a stew, and my mind wandered. “What's in the other fridges?” I asked.

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David paused, arms full of cans and… more bananas, if I wasn't mistaken? “Left to right, it's produce fridge, produce freezer, meat fridge, meat freezer.”

My eyes widened. It was a new day, and the morning’s new anxieties notwithstanding, I was actually pretty mentally refreshed. “Can I see the meat fridge?” I asked.

David nodded towards it. “Knock yourself out. My hands are full, but the door's unlocked.”

Don't do it! said the critical voice. It's not for us. It will kill you.

I wasn't going to eat any!

What happened to endorsing forbidden knowledge? asked the odd voice.

Good point, said the critical voice. Open the door, but try to get traumatized by the experience so you'll stop thinking about meat all the time.

I hesitantly reached out a paw towards the handle and tried not to tremble as I slowly pulled it open.

It was… mostly empty. A couple glass jars with tan paste or something, some wrinkly tubes in red and dark gray. There were three biggish chunks of meat hanging from the ceiling--a quadruped leg, an unidentifiable two inch thick sheet, and a dark red chunky thing with rib bones sticking out of it--but given the size of the fridge, I'd expected more.

“There's not much in here,” I remarked.

“We're not open,” David replied. “Meat doesn't last very long unfrozen. That's mostly smoked or cured things left in there. Duck confit, sausages, bacon… do I still have that ham and the steaks?”

Those didn't translate for reasons that should probably be obvious at this point. “If you mean the leg thing and the rib thing, then yes?” I called back.

“Awesome,” said David. “Yeah, if you ever want to roll the dice on trying meat, I’ll slice you off one of those nice dry-aged ribeye steaks.” He came up behind me, carefully, like he was still worried about the quills. “Probably wouldn’t chance it until the roads are cleared, though. No ambulances available if things go really wrong.” He rubbed my shoulder affectionately. “I like you a lot. I’d be really put out if you died.”

Aww, it’s like your neuroses are made for each other, the odd voice said.

I nuzzled his hand back, but otherwise let him get started cooking. Toasting his own spices from scratch was kinda neat to watch, but the actual process of putting a stew together didn’t keep my interest long. I wandered over to the bar and started… well, basically trying to taste every bottle on the shelf without getting plastered before lunchtime. Tiny sips. Just touching it to my tongue, in some cases. There was even an old distiller’s trick I knew for testing the scent. I rubbed a little of a brown spirit on the fur by my snout, aerating it, letting me collect the aroma. The major categories all tasted different, but it was interesting how even different whiskeys has subtly different aromas. This one sharper, this one smoother, this one with a touch of fruity sweetness to it. One even smelled loud and smokey. It was fascinating how much variety humans put into a single beverage, and it was just… distilled grain alcohol that had sat for a while in a wooden barrel.

Still, I was getting warm despite my best efforts. “Hey, David?” I called out. “I was thinking about the texture of drinks over my cereal this morning. Is there anything to that, or…?”

David stopped dead in his tracks and grinned. “See, this is what I’m talking about. Your head’s in the perfect place for this line of work. Yes, absolutely. I mean, we’re staying simple for our lunch service, but once we’re back to full power? Playing with texture is a key component of the Cropsey Carnival’s culinary style. I’ll show you a few examples when I can, but let me get you one now.” He pulled a plastic bottle out of the produce fridge, and wound up to throw it. “Here, catch.”

“What? No!” I protested. “My depth perception is shit, let me just grab it from you.” I scurried over and snatched the greenish bottle out of his hand before he could toss it with enough force to shatter and splatter on the ground after I inevitably whiffed the catch. “What is it?”

“It’s an aloe vera drink,” said David. “Sweetened cactus juice, basically. Non-alcoholic.”

Taste-testing the entire back wall of a bar was pretty dehydrating. I cracked the juice open and took a long swing. The texture was bizarre! It was chunkier and pulpier than the orange juice was, and it was… slimy! It was still refreshing and good, but it was such an unexpected mouthfeel. Vegetal and bouncy. “Rum or tequila, maybe?” I said aloud.

“Yup. Good choices,” said David. He pulled a ladleful of his inexplicably white stew off the stove and tasted it. “Oh, while you’re here, can you try this?” He held the ladle out for me to drink from.

It looked not entirely unlike the cereal I’d eaten this morning. “You sure milk and bananas are a good choice for Yotuls?” The milk was turning yellow and red with specks of spices, and I didn’t recognize the other chunks in it.

“It’s coconut milk and plantains,” said David. “I’m staying vegan with this. It’ll probably be a while before anyone else is open-minded enough to try dairy. The tricky part was making a Thai curry without fermented fish sauce, but I worked around it. Try it.”

It certainly smelled amazing. Fragrant spices and herbs wafted off of the ladle. I took a sip of the broth. It was warm and tangy and savory, lightly sweet. Creamy, too, despite the lack of… well, cream. And the spices were incredible! Those were rare imports on my homeworld, and most Gojids tended to have more conservative palates. I dug in for a full bite, chunks and all. The plantains were clearly similar to bananas, but starchier. The texture was different, slightly mealier and less sweet, but more filling. But then the stew had chunks of bright and tangy-sweet fruit in it as well. Another citrus fruit, maybe? “What’s the yellowish bits?”

“Pineapple,” said David. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got a hit,” I said, savoring the taste. It was every flavor except bitter. My face felt warm. Almost irritated. I coughed. “Is that, um.” I coughed again, sniffling. “You’re sure there’s no meat in that, right?” My mouth was burning. It was suddenly getting weirdly difficult to breathe with how snotty I was. I was tearing up slightly, so I rubbed my eyes, and my eyes started burning as well. “I don’t… I don’t feel good.”

I plunked down on the ground, and David practically bolted behind the bar for the first aid kit faster than I could see through watery irritated eyes. He had the emergency syringe out at the ready, but held off on using it. “Open your mouth?” he asked, and I obliged. “Deep breath.” I breathed. It burned, but I could mostly breath through my mouth alright. David stared, baffled. “I’m… I’m trying to look for reddish swelling, but your throat is blue. Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

“Hard, but… yeah, so far,” I coughed. My nose was all runny. “Why is it burning? Am I gonna die?”

David shook his head in disbelief. “There couldn’t be… I was so careful. It’s just plants. It has to just be plants! Maybe one of the spices? Does the word ‘capsaicin’ translate?”

I fell over, delirious and choking…

…on my own laughter. “You put fucking firefruit in that stew?” I said, coughing and giggling. “No fuckin’ wonder!” I sniffled and coughed again. “I’m not… the Cradle doesn’t do spicy food.” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Whew! Okay, that’s a bit of a kick, yeah.” I put the bottle of aloe vera juice up to my lips and drank deeply, which helped a bit. “Fuckin’... human bounty, man. You got too many damn vegetables for a predator species, you know?”

David hugged me with a sigh of relief. “Jesus. Don’t scare me like that. I thought you were dying.”

“Nah, juss… warm and tipsy and my face hurts,” I said, coughing and hugging him back. “Whass next?”