LIFE, PLATED

Life,plated

a collection of various flavorful stories of life

©2022 BY SPIRIT OF WRITING

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Life, plated

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“Life”

Sixteen.

Doan Tran Viet 11ADN2

“something”

The last thing I remembered was being guided into this restaurant by a mysterious waiter. How and why I was here, I had no idea. They sat me down, looked at me and started to leave. I frantically called out to the waiter, blurting out anything that came to my mind, but the most important questions were:

“Where am I? What is this place?”

They turned around and simply said: “Life.”

My Five Course Meal (Served in a restaurant called life)

“So it was a dream?”

Then they promptly left with not even a single word to explain what I was in for. Confused, I looked around for someone else to ask what was going on but I seemed to be surrounded by foreign guests, eyes cast downwards, focused on one thing and one thing only: their meals. These faces I never was or ever will be acquainted with, each and every one of them was different in some way, coming from an unknown origin. One thing they had in common, however, was that they all had five-course meals made especially for them.

The dishes seem to come from one single kitchen, and were seemingly created to cater to each customer’s taste… There was no menu to choose from, no waitress to order from but somehow, the restaurant knew what to serve everybody. While some people were having large, luxurious meals that spread infinitely from one end of the table to the opposite side, others were served miniature dishes with barely anything; there were even those who sat with empty plates.

My line of thought was interrupted, however, by the waiter I saw previously, who was now returning with what seemed to be a mealmy meal - concealed under a silver cloche. It looked like some words were engraved into the cloche on its side but I could barely make anything out since its surface reflected the blinding lights that hang above my head. It vaguely resembled a number.

Sixteen.

I had a sense of deja vu upon seeing said number. Regardless, the waiter reached my table and lifted the cloche, revealing two dishes that piqued my interest. One of them was a bowl of plain white rice. The other was just a note that said: “There are lots more to taste.” On the side was a pair of chopsticks. I guess I need to eat now? I looked up to ask the waiter something again, but they were already gone. With food in front of me and nothing else to really do, I held the chopsticks in my hand and grabbed a small knob of rice. I lightly placed it into my mouth and started to chew; the rice tasted weird, in fact it had no taste at all.

But then something started to ash in the back of my mind.

This “something” brought back a series of recollections of everything that happened up until I sat down at the table.. and everything after I had taken the bite. The sizzling sounds of oil that was spread upon the surfaces of searing hot pans; the screeching sound of water boiling under a pot’s shaky lid; the constant chopping of a knife against a dull, worn out wooden board; I could hear, smell and imagine it all, behind that door, a five course meal I had no recollection of ordering was being prepared. I could see every ingredient being prepared, not just in the kitchen but even from the earliest steps when they were being gathered. Alongside the bowl of rice, a total of four other dishes were being prepared. What they were - I did not know, but I could guarantee that I was to experience each and every one of them. Each of them had a number, which reminded me of the sixteen engraved on my first dish - the bowl of rice. The familiarity I had with it, the fact that I could not remember anything before or pass it, the fact that it was specific to this single moment. It was my age. I’ve only now realized but along with seeing the preparation of my rice bowl, I could also see glimpses of images inside it too. Faint images of me growing up, experiencing things and everything that led me to sit on this table, much like how the rice is now on my plate, from the moment it was just a pile of picked grains to after it was fully processed and boiled into soft white flakes. If this was all from just one bowl of rice, what could be lying inside the other four dishes? Only one idea came to my mind: those are parts of my life I have experienced, and even phases of my life I have yet to taste. Numbers larger than 16 appeared before me, escalating ages further into my life. But why am I only realizing it now?

I blinked and quickly I came to. I was now laying on my bed.

“So it was a dream?”

I thought to myself. Cliche, don’t you think? Yet something about that bizarre experience was worth remembering. I never realized that there was so much of my life in just sixteen years, so many flavors that could be represented in just one dish. There were still four more dishes to discover with infinitely more flavors… I was both fearful but exhilarated at that fact. That restaurant I had the chance to be invited to is called “life”, make of it what you will. But for me, I have a feeling that this won’t be my only visit to this restaurant that has so much more I have yet to taste.

Pho Chuoi

WERE I TO PLATE MY LIFE IN THE LAST WEEK AND SERVE IT TO TÔM; AN OVERRIPE BANANA AND SIX BARS OF CHOCOLATE IN MY RAMSEY AT THE HELM, THE WEEKND AS ENTERTAINMENT, AND A PATRICIA (THE CRUEL NAME OF FATE), AT THE LAST SECOND, WHAT CAME INSTEAD WAS A HARD-TO-SWALLOW DRY CRACKER WITH PASSED AWAY IN AN UNFORTUNATE

PRESUMED TO BE ONE-LAST “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” BEFORE WORK STARTED WAS AMurdoch Stephen Graham

Thursday and Friday were to be courses food critics. I don’t remember them. the tuna cracker, and it had turned to pit in my stomach. The red wine was By the time dessert came, I had flushed myself down at a new table. When I looked were sitting around me, they were smiling. new one, and my appetite had been sworn he would rectify his wrongs, and in key. Hell, even Patricia apologized said, “I’m sorry about last time. I promise. Cautious of the previous meal I had been reservation, but as my friends and I spirit of life, we gorged ourselves on the Ancient Greeks once had. Such bound to find a few not

courses fit to fancy even the noblest of My date had walked out. I had eaten to ash on my tongue, and an endless was swapped for tears and mucus. flushed most of the poison away, and sat looked up, I saw that all of my friends smiling. I realized that the day was a been regained. This time, Gordon had and The Weeknd had promised to stay apologized - “Happy Birthday, Steve” she had promise. This whole night is on me!” been served, I thanked her with some sat down to drink in this newfound grapes and sweet treats as easily as Such is the 9 course meal of life - you’re not quite to your liking.

ROLLS

Just like its name, they’re enjoyed best during Hanoi’s months of spring, especially because of its amiability and delicacy. Each roll may look tiny, but it has every avor you’ve been dying to dig for.

The most simple Hanoi winter street food that makes you crave warmth. Probably has health bene ts to it..?

A Japanese noodle dish, served hot or cold. I personally prefer cold, where the noodles are separated and dipped into a sauce - it’s much more unique than other traditional noodle dishes.