Baby Meat Kitchen

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

The content of the story could be perceived as shocking, that is not the intent behind writing it. It is written only as a philosophical quandary.

Baby Meat Kitchen

There were not many people. There were not many usually, it was an expensive and exclusive place. Baby Meat Kitchen was a historical icon of the city. It had endured the great revolution and lived to tell the tale. Even the revolutionary invaders who destroyed everything the city once stood for, spared this one institution. Perhaps as a humiliating reminder for the generations to come. But history was rewritten (or rather twisted, the invaders might have quipped now) and the legacy of the Baby Meat Kitchen survived, albeit in a new light. Perhaps it was the Veal. Baby Meat Kitchen used to and still served the best Veal.

The two old timers showed up late for their reservation. They knew reservations were simply formalities now, they could get away breaking the archaic rule. Baby Meat Kitchen had other more stringent rules to worry about. The old timers leaned back in their seats and chatted leisurely.

“Hey Folks! I am so surprised to find you here!”  The youngling greeted the old timers with a hint of sarcasm.

“A fine specimen of the contemporary values, dine with us this fine evening, will you?” one of the old timers invited the youngling.

“So you have company today.” Beth, the old waitress stepped in. she was as old as the Baby Meat Kitchen.

“I don’t know how I feel about that” the other old timer said. His mouth was bald like his head and showed the well-worn gums when he spoke.

Beth nodded understandingly. “So what’re we having tonight?” She addressed the three.

“Isn’t tonight’s special the famous Veal broth?” The youngling asked. Beth Nodded.

“Can we get some real Veal?” One of the old timers winked at Beth.

“Yes, I want some real Veal too!” The other old timer joined him.

“Stop it you guys! You know the rules. Alright, Veal broth for everybody then.” Beth confirmed and disappeared.

“What did you mean by real Veal? When did Baby Meat Kitchen ever serve fake Veal?” The youngling started the conversation.

“What do you know about the history of this place boy?” the old timer asked.

“Don’t get started now. Let’s talk about something else. Who won the game?” The other old timer tried to change the subject.

“What do I know? Only everything!” the youngling sounded confident, bordering arrogance even. He fished out a shiny black device from his coat, clicked a few buttons and started to recite the history of Baby Meat Kitchen. How it was founded by the legendary chef Liveheart, how it only served handpicked Veal, how it was the symbol of oppression and injustice, how it survived the great revolution and how its legacy continued to endure till the present day. The youngling stopped to catch his breath. Baby Meat Kitchen was the pride of the city.

“So, who would you rather believe? That fancy magic box or an eye witness of true history?” The old timer looked the youngling in the eye as he spoke.

“Yes, who would you believe?” the other old timer was easing in on the conversation.

The youngling wanted to say the magic box but the piercing sight of the old timer convinced him otherwise. He fell silent.

The old timer smirked faintly and continued, “Ask your magic box what it knows about meat-people.”

The youngling clicked a few buttons. “Nothing much. A few lines about superstition, dark ages and a few images of ghosts and demons.”

“Look closely, search more, they might have missed a few spots.” The old timer pressed. The other old timer giggled, he was enjoying it too now.

“More images of magic and nonsense, that’s all. Are you pulling a joke on me?” the youngling was getting frustrated.

“Baby Meat Kitchen used to serve the best meat-people baby meat.” The old timer sounded very serious.

“What nonsense! Baby Meat means baby cow meat! Baby Meat Kitchen has always served the best Veal. Are you telling me that they cooked human meat here? That is simply wrong!” The youngling sounded a little shaken.

“Arguing about what is right and wrong is futile. Cows used to be sacred before the revolution. People used to worship them. Baby cows were considered the purest form of life. Killing a cow was punishable by life in prison or even the guillotine, depending on how righteous the judge felt at the time of sentencing. What kind of a person could kill a baby cow? The judge would make sure that the person who killed a baby cow would be sufficiently tortured before being killed. Why do you think very old timers even now don’t eat Veal? Not because of mad cow disease, that’s just an alibi. Cow meat is still sacred to them. And heaven forbid, this place did not serve human flesh! How can you even imagine it? It was meat-people flesh that was served here.” The old timer leaned back and glanced at the other.

“After the revolution, they reversed the practice. They kill and eat cows now, baby cows in particular, as a symbol of victory. And with such vengeance! That is the real reason why Baby Meat Kitchen was spared. As a symbol of shame and victory.” The other old timer sounded very earnest.

“Worshipped cows? That is silly! You make it sound as if meat-people were not human. And the absurdity about the revolution. The revolution was against oppression and injustice, not cannibalism! Baby Meat Kitchen was where the oppressed served the elite oppressors. That’s why it’s still standing, as a symbol of shame and victory against oppression and injustice, not cannibalism!” The youngling really wanted to believe what he was talking about.

“Eating meat-people flesh was not cannibalism. They were grown in farms for the sole purpose of harvesting their flesh, especially the babies. At the height of its glory Baby Meat Kitchen exhausted two farms within two years because they couldn’t produce babies fast enough to keep up with the demand. Such a machine!  You think they were human too? My father would call it post-revolution propaganda. Cannibalism is when you eat human flesh, the very idea is revolting. This is meat-people we are talking about.” The old timer didn’t flinch as he spoke.

“If the outrageous things you are claiming to have transpired really did, why is there not a shred of evidence to that effect? I have spoken to other old timers, none has made such extraordinary claims. Why is it not the case that you both might be senile?” The youngling really wanted to disprove the old timers.

“Such is the power of righteousness induced by the prevailing morality. The post revolution propaganda machine was so ashamed of the past practices that it chose to cover up its history in the wake of the new found ethics. The very idea of meat-people, as you found out earlier, has been reduced to mere superstition. The other old timers don’t speak about their past precisely because of the guilt induced by today’s ethics. That is why old timers like us avoid those shiny black propaganda devices. Have you heard of Mr.Liveheart, the famous doctor? You nod. Yes, he is from the same lineage of chef Liveheart, only chef Liveheart was known for exactly what his name stands for.  In those days, a live throbbing baby heart prepared by the table side was a delicacy only the elite of the elites could afford. Chef Liveheart was the best in preparing it. As you can imagine, one needs to have very fine skills to accomplish such a feat. The skill naturally flows in the family. After the revolution those skills were put to good use in matters medical and its history was appropriately rewritten. Poor Dr.Liveheart will suffer a heart attack if he learns the real story of his family.” The old timers laughed uncontrollably.

“Assuming for a moment it is true, you both then don’t feel any shame at all? You still feel it is alright to eat meat-people baby flesh then? And even if you do, you know how the “prevailing morality” abhors eating human flesh, why talk about it at all?” The young man was convinced the old timers were senile.

“We both have suspended judgment. We have witnessed prevailing opinions about morality in such contrast that we are convinced it doesn’t matter. Cows were worshipped and then eaten as food. People were raised for meat and then declared equal.  We neither approve nor disapprove of anything, nothing bothers or makes us ashamed of ourselves anymore. We speak our mind because we realize the limitations of believing an eye witness in the absence of compelling evidence. That is the precise moment when you take the leap of faith, when you believe someone just on his words. You heard our personal experience and Baby Meat Kitchen stands right here as a proof for it. But other equally compelling and perhaps more appealing explanations are abound and given a choice you are more inclined to believe what you really want to.  We speak our mind because we really don’t care anymore. It is up to you to put your faith in our words or not.” The old timers started to laugh uncontrollably again.

The youngling was silent. He wanted to believe that this conversation had made the old timers lose whatever little sanity they held on to.

“The best Veal broth in the world gentlemen.” Beth provided a welcome intrusion to the silence that had befallen. All three of them were hungry and ready to devour the broth.

“Why does my broth look and smell different from yours?” The youngling asked.

“Oh, ours is the broth from the old times, want to try some?” The old timer said as he offered a spoonful to the youngling. 

Submitted: November 08, 2013

© Copyright 2020 Gary1986. All rights reserved.

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