The VIP Lunch
by Den Watson
Stony suggested the idea, Chef Jose loved it, and Mindy had concerns.
“I think I get the point,” she said, “I just hope our guests do, too.”
“We’ll all be eating the same meal,” said Kate, “and I’m curious myself to see their reactions.”
Kate’s guests were definitely VIP—former mayors and state senators were among them—and many had contributed significantly to the success of Kate’s project. But some of them could be scratchy at times, like the electric car guy, for example, who wanted the whole project named after him. Mindy was worried about what the guests’ reactions might be to what she knew would be an unusual meal, especially for people who were used to dining well.
For this special VIP brunch, Chef Jose put several tables end to end, seating 12 guests on each side, and each place had a fancy silver dish and cover to be dramatically removed, revealing the special meal beneath—but not just yet.
“Welcome to the very first VIP brunch at our new Home Park, which exists today only because of your help,” said Kate. “But I don’t want us to forget why we’re here, and that’s for the 46,000–minus 4,000 now, again thanks to you—the 42,000 people who may be going to sleep each night, hungry in one of the richest cities in the world. And what do they eat at their next meal? Now, please remove the covers at your places.”
Removing the covers revealed a meal that threw the entire table into shock, surprise, and eventually laughter. Mindy sighed in relief. This is what they saw.
On each plate were two packets of catsup, 1 packet of soda crackers, 2 packets of salt and pepper, and these instructions:
Mix with hot water for tomato soup.
Add crackers.
Season to taste
Mindy had worried needlessly. The unusual appetizer sparked conversations around the table about the Great Depression of the 1930s, which many of the guests still remembered. The noise level went up.
“There were many nights as kids in Ohio we’d be glad of a meal like this,” said one of the richest men in the city.
“I think the street people in New York City invented this—this homeless soup?” said a well-known stage actor from the East Coast. Most people didn’t notice, but at the words “homeless soup,” Chef Jose wrote something in his little notebook.
“Yes! At the—what did they call them? You put a dime or a quarter in a slot and a piece of pie came around on a turntable.”
“Automats,” someone said.
“That’s it. Like an automated buffet.”
“They had all kinds of food—sandwiches, meatloaf, chicken salad, pie—but the condiments were already on the tables—salt, pepper, napkins, and—”
“Catsup and soda crackers.”
“You had to walk over to the coffee stand to get a cup of hot water.”
“Then open the catsup pack, crumble the crackers, and mix it all together for tomato soup.”
“Not a lot of protein there.”
“Not a lot of anything, but better than nothing, and then the automat manager ran you off after a few minutes.”
By now several people had torn open their packets and were actually preparing the soup. Kate liked them best.
“It doesn’t taste bad—it just doesn’t taste good either. And not much of it.”
“Not much nutrition, not the best way to start the day. But if you were starving—”
Kate stood and tapped her glass. “Thank you, Chef Jose for this totally unfulfilling meal.”
Laughter. “As our table is cleared, I want to assure you that Jose has more for us. And as many of you know, I am a bit of a gourmet myself. I like a good meal—and sometimes a very good meal.”
“Hear, hear!”
“But while educating myself about the homeless, I found I didn’t enjoy those meals as much, knowing that less than 100 yards from my restaurant table, people were going hungry and living in tents. But I’m happy to say there is no one going hungry here—in fact, the only hungry people here are us, and Chef Jose is about to change that.”
Later, people said that Chef Jose’s asparagus-lobster omelettes with ginger ponzu sauce seemed to float off the plate.
No comments:
Post a Comment