We Don't Do Fancy
I just dreamed that I was in a do-it-yourself barbeque restaurant. I ordered a barbequed fish, and the waiter gave me a plate with two pieces of raw fish and a packet (like those packets cheap cafes give you ketchup in). The packet was labeled 'flour'.
'What's this for?' I asked the waiter, pointing to the flour.
He shrugged. 'You dip the fish innit 'fore you cook it.'
'Oh,' I said doubtfully, 'like a batter. But you need water and stuff to make a batter.'
He pointed to the water tap.
'But what about the other stuff?' I asked.
He shrugged again. This seemed to be a necessary preliminary for speech for him. Perhaps it opened his throat chakra. Or something. 'Like, what stuff?' he asked with no real interest.
'Well, salt, and maybe an egg.'
He shrugged, looked disapproving, and said, 'An egg? That's fancy, an egg. We don't do fancy. We only do plain.'
I woke up repeating to myself, we don't do fancy, we only do plain. It seemed not a bad motto for life, but then I was still half asleep. Now, as I write this I am still only perhaps three-quarters awake and am even more worried by the concept. Is it a good idea or not?
© Copyright 1995 by Jessica Macbeth. All rights reserved.
This was first published in Otherworld Arts
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