The Taster

by Sean Meriwether
© 1999  

“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Wilkes?” the bartender asked. “I’m about to close out.”

“When will Ms. Gravakas be available? I have been waiting for some time.” Edgar Wilkes took a miniature sip from his drink and replaced it on the counter. His finger returned to the rim and its ceaseless inconsequential motion.

“Ms. Gravakas closed the kitchen at eleven o’clock but does not usually leave until after one. Since she is expecting you, Mr. Wilkes, I imagine she may be out a bit sooner.” The bartender nodded politely and then stepped back soundlessly. He began removing the rows of bottles from their appointed positions and placed them on the shelves below the bar. Mr. Wilkes returned to his vigil in anticipation of the chef’s appearance.

The overhead lights blazed on after the last patrons left. The minimalistic restaurant sculpted by light was transformed into a barren rectangular box. The busboys frantically cleared the tables and undressed the set. Kitchen noises filled the empty room; dishes were washed and stacked, pots clamored, the kitchen staff shouted and murmured in foreign tongues; all music to his ears. Behind those doors, beyond his range of hearing, Ms. Daphne Gravakas was in control, managing those faceless voices, overseeing that rhythmic clatter.

The staff left in two groups; the waiters in their black pants and tight vests, older and thinner than the group of bus boys and kitchen staff who followed twenty minutes later in their plain whites, jovial faces and raucous voices. Mr. Wilkes observed both groups disappear into the summer night with the objectivity of man studying the migration of ordinary fowl. The rare, elusive bird remained in her nest.

The restaurant grew hushed and focused its energy around the bar in a halo of light. The bartender removed the cash from the register and brought it into the kitchen with the receipts. He nodded goodnight to Mr. Wilkes and told him that Daphne would be out in a moment. After five minutes of unsettling quiet the white-clad Ms. Gravakas parted the kitchen doors with her large frame. Mr. Wilkes took a breath in awe. The Rubenesque woman floated over and tossed her white hat down on the bar. She apologized for the delay.

“Would you like to do this another time?” He crossed his fingers behind his back.

“No, no.  Just let me sit a moment and get my second wind.” Edgar sat back to take her all in, like a sculpture. She was a massive woman, not obese but built like a fullback. Her white uniform was filled with voluptuous curves and secreted flesh. Daphne’s roughened hands were pink and her face was flushed like a child’s. Her brown eyes shimmered in the light and absorbed his tiny frame; he watched his narrow face free-float in twin pools. “I understand you are quite a fan,” she said. “The staff tells me you have been crying into my sauces all week.”

“Yes, you might say that.” Mr. Wilkes leaned closer, his wide, white teeth eager in smile formation. “Today is my 35th birthday and I thought that the only thing I could possibly want was to meet the woman responsible for my eating recovery.”

She went around the bar and took a bottle and two glasses and returned to Mr. Wilkes’ side. “Please, join me in a glass of Merlot. It’s my last remaining vice.” She poured out two glasses and raised a toast to him. “Mr. Wilkes, I interrupted you, please go on.”

“I wanted to thank you for my eating recovery. Before you I had never eaten an entire meal. Those gigantic American meals most restaurants serve are too much for my delicate stomach, but your dishes are…”

“Edgar, I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean you’ve never eaten an entire meal.” She sipped her Merlot and unpinned her hair. Daphne shook it loose and sable curls draped over her shoulders like a veil.

“I… uh… I meant…”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, you made me lose my train of thought. Your hair.”  Mr. Wilkes’ left hand opened and closed futilely. “You have beautiful hair, Daphne.”

“Thank you. Back to your story.” She winked at him over her drink.

“My mother was a business woman and a single mother. She didn’t have much time for the culinary arts and I was raised on leftovers from client lunches, side dishes and ghastly take out. I was only able to experience the aftermath of dining and it raised some issues within me. I can’t say I blame my mother, she was very busy and did her best, but still, I can only a few morsels at a time. More than that and I may become painfully ill.”

“What has this to do with me?” Daphne shook her hair back and unbuttoned her white jacket. Mr. Wilkes’ attention was diverted from her inviting face to her massive breasts. He shivered and lay a hand on her arm. “Ms. Gravakas, I…”

“Daphne,” she said. “Call me Daphne, Edgar.”

“Daphne, such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. You are really quite striking.”

Daphne laughed, “If you like fat women,” she said. “Fat, tired women.”

“Never trust a skinny chef, that’s what I say.”

“Or a skinny food critic.”

Mr. Wilkes jolted and shook his head frantically. “I’m not a food critic. What would give you such a horrible idea?”

“Then why are you here, Mr. Wilkes?” Daphne sipped her Merlot.

“Because I wanted to know you, of course. My whole life I have been ostracized due to my gastric-handicap but your delicate sauces and precise portions, they are my saving graces. I owe you a great deal, you have no idea how much, and I wanted to thank you in a special way.”

Daphne Gravakas smiled, then laughed kindly and shook her head. “Are you joking with me, Mr. Wilkes?”

“No. How could you think that? All I want is to please you, to know your essence, to discover your secrets. Might I be so bold as to ask you… to prepare… a meal.” Mr. Wilkes swallowed audibly as his mouth dried up.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Wilkes?”

Mr. Wilkes startled and knocked his glass over. The Merlot splashed across the counter. “I don’t eat food,” he protested. He grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins and mopped up the spill. Daphne picked up the glass and refilled it and her own.

“Why would you want me to cook something if you are not going to eat it? Cooking is my art like painting or poetry. I won’t waste it, it must be eaten for it to give pleasure.”

“Exactly my point, Ms. Gravakas. For me it is an art form, the creation process fascinates me, to see you create food with these hands…” He impulsively grasped Daphne’s hand and kissed the back of it, then flushed red. He kissed it again and then returned her hand to the bar bashfully.

“Edgar, I am not sure I understand this at all.” She laughed candidly. Edgar took her hand again and caressed her thick fingers.

“These hands, these beautiful hands are made for creating, for crafting delicate dishes with raw materials, kneading, slicing, deboning…” Mr. Wilkes took a deep breath and a large sip from his glass before continuing. “You must understand that I have been watching cooking programs on PBS for years as a way of helping me face my issues with food. Many times I was inspired by the rough, pale hands of Julia Child, so like your hands, inspired to… take matters into my own hands.”

“Yes, Edgar?” Daphne took a sip from her glass.

“I wanted to be there with her, to be the food she was preparing… I mean, helping her prepare the food,” he laughed. Daphne laughed with him. Mr. Wilkes tossed back his glass of Merlot in a shot, then refilled his glass. He smiled, his wide, white teeth complimenting his flushed cheeks.

“So what you are saying, Edgar, is that you want to watch me cook. Why didn’t you come into the kitchen earlier this evening? I’m not going to dirty up my kitchen after everything has been washed.” Daphne finished her second glass of Merlot and Mr. Wilkes quickly refilled the glass. The bottle was almost empty.

He grinned. “I wanted to share this experience with you and you alone. I may not be much of an eater, but I do appreciate all the time and hard work your creativity demands.” He touched her broad fingers and brushed the rough skin of her hands. “What is it like being a chef?”

“How do you mean, Edgar?” Daphne ran her fingers through her dark hair and massaged her scalp. Mr. Wilkes licked his lips and drank his glass of Merlot in desperate swallows. He wiped his lips and slammed the glass down so hard it tumbled out of his hand and rolled off the bar with a tinkling crash.

“What is it like mixing ingredients together? How does it feel to run your hands through dough?” He leaned forward, his wide teeth expectant. The overhead lights bounced off his balding pate. “How does it feel to know people will experience Nirvana when they put something you made in their mouths?” Mr. Wilkes continued to lean forward until his lips were almost touching Daphne’s. He whispered, “To have people taste you?”

“Mr. Wilkes, I’m not sure I understand what you are asking. Do you mean you can taste me?”

“I don’t know if you will understand, Daphne. Maybe once we have gotten to know each other better I will be able to explain myself. Would you show me your kitchen, I need to see your domain.” Mr. Wilkes shivered and went to pick up his glass, but it was gone. Daphne tilted her glass to his lips. His lips lapped at the dark red liquid as he focused his eyes on her. He smiled rapturously when she sipped from the glass herself.

“Why not,” Daphne said. She went behind the bar and removed a second bottle of Merlot and led Mr. Wilkes into the kitchen. “Please, tell me about your appliances,” Mr. Wilkes asked breathlessly.

“We have a sub-zero freezer. We can fit a whole cow in there if we wanted,” she laughed. “And here we have the Mix-Master. This is used to blend all the ingredients for the desserts.”

“Show me where you stand, show me where you rule the kitchen.”

“I don’t stand in any one particular spot, Edgar, I move around a lot.”

“Where are your utensils. Show me your wands of power.”

“Edgar?” She filled their glass drank from it, then she passed it to her partner. “Why do you want to see my kitchen?”

“This is where you are a goddess, this is where your power over me emanates from. The kitchen is where you create the foods which sustain me.” He leaned up against her and kissed her thick lips. “I want to show my appreciation for you,” he whispered. “I want to make love to you.”

“I don’t know if… I… Edgar,” he kissed her deeply and ran his fingers through her thick curls of hair.

“I have dreamed of this moment all week, my darling. I owe you so much, please let me give you this one thing.”

He removed her jacket and ran his spidery fingers beneath her white tee shirt and forced it up over her straining brassiere. He circled her large nipples through the transparent cloth, then bent to lick them. Daphne groaned and backed up against the counter.  “Edgar… I…”

“Please, let me love you,” he begged. His eyes were those of a wounded puppy, his mouth twisted into a pout. Daphne pushed his head back between her breasts and he moaned in gratitude. He undid her bra strap and dropped the garment onto the counter. “Edgar, I think we should go to my place and…”

“In the kitchen, must be the kitchen,” he said. He knelt down and unbuttoned her white pants and dragged the zipper down with his teeth. “Your Power,” he exhaled. He eased her pants down over her rounded thighs and trapped her ankles with the streamer of her panties. He voyaged into her with a steady tongue. Daphne leaned back on the counter as the sweat rolled down her forehead and over the small of her back. “Eddie, I…”

“Tell me about your desserts, your wonderful petite desserts. How do you make those chocolate cups?” Edgar embraced her as she described the sugary concoctions her kitchen was known for, the petite mousse in dark chocolate cups, the crème bruelle, the strawberry shortcake. He put on a condom and lost himself in her delicious folds, wrapped in her voice reciting ingredients, recipes, cooking temperatures. They were both panting when he ejaculated deep inside of her. Daphne was flushed and sweating, she laughed lightly. “Whew,” she exhaled. “That was wonderful.”

“Yes, Daphne, I would love to taste your desserts, but I guess I already have.” He ran his fingers over her vagina.

He refilled the glass and brought it to her. Daphne drank deeply, savored the thick liquid in her mouth. “I wasn’t expecting this, Edgar,” she said. “I’ve never had a groupie before.”

“I merely wanted to show my gratitude for your culinary prowess,” he sighed. Edgar redressed quickly and looked at his watch. “It is getting very late and I must be going.”

“You’re leaving now?” Daphne rebuttoned her jacket and bent to pull her pants back up. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes.  I must… I have to… the kitchen is… I can’t stay, can we go outside quickly, please?” Edgar dashed into the restaurant and bent over his legs to catch his breath.

“Edgar, are you sick?”

After his breath steadied, Mr. Wilkes stood up and leaned against Daphne. When he spotted her white uniform he jumped back and tumbled over an upturned chair. His face blanched as white as flour and he dropped his head in a quiet sob. “This always happens. The excitement beforehand… it hurts later, you can’t understand. I thought you might be different, your… food…” Mr. Wilkes coughed wetly and Daphne ran to get an ice bucket. Mr. Wilkes waved her away. “No, no, I’m all right. Just a little overwhelmed at the moment. I never expected this to happen with you.”

“This has happened before?”

“Yes.” He nodded sadly and patted each side of his face with his fingers to revive himself. He shook his head like a wet dog and stood up straight.

“May I ask how often you do this sort of thing?” She hovered over him, her breasts just beneath his chin.

“Only a handful, my beautiful Daphne. I don’t have many options, there are so few female chefs in town, but none of them are of your caliber. I thought you might be the one.” Mr. Wilkes stretched his back and then muffled a yawn. “I’ll be all right now. I am terribly sorry for all the trouble.”

“And so?” Daphne loomed over the thin man.

“Now I thank you for a very wonderful evening, I apologize for this incident and I go home.” Mr. Wilkes extended his hand formally and Daphne looked at it incredulously.

“And that’s it? You come into my restaurant, you charm me and pretend to be interested in my kitchen and you fuck me and then that’s it?” She pushed Mr. Wilkes back against the wall and trapped him with her body. “Did you do this to Marion Van Pebbles at Le Chateau? And Judy Howlett at Grendels? Did you or did you not?”

“Why, yes of course,” Mr. Wilkes smiled, his wide teeth suddenly bashful. “I love women, I love women who cook. I have only brought you pleasure as you bring me pleasure with your delicate dishes. The moment is transitory but the memory is forever. Why should you be angry?”

Daphne slammed Mr. Wilkes into the wall with her body when he attempted to squirm away. She wrapped her arms around him and dragged him into the kitchen. Mr. Wilkes fought against her blindly as he slid helplessly before her. Daphne dropped him and the tumbled onto his hands and knees and expelled two glasses of Merlot onto the tiled floor.

‘The kitchen,” he mumbled, “bad…”

“It turned you on a moment ago, so much so that you couldn’t even go to my apartment, could you? I bet you can’t even get it up there.” She tossed some paper towels on his pool of vomit an told him to clean it up. He panted helplessly, “Daphne. Please help me.”

She poured herself a glass of Merlot and stood over his body. When he attempted to get up she pushed him down lightly with his foot. “What am I supposed to do with you, Edgar? I can’t let you just walk away.”

Mr. Wilkes moaned a steady stream of apologies into the tile beneath his head. “I’ll tell you what, Edgar, I’d like to give you your fantasy.” She laughed heartily and finished off her wine. She put the glass aside and dragged his body to the counter. “Get undressed,” she ordered, but removed his clothes before he could respond. Daphne hauled him off the floor and onto the counter and held him down. Mr. Wilkes shivered and begged her to stop. His voice quickly became raspy and muted.

Daphne flipped him onto his back and hog-tied him with his shirt. Daphne slapped his concave stomach and asked him how much he weighed. “One-hundred and thirty? Mr. Wilkes, you’ll be in the oven all night!” She howled and disappeared from his view.

He heard the refrigerator door open and he sensed the temperature shift in the room. Ms. Gravakas returned with a bright, red apple and stuck it into his mouth. He spit it out onto the floor. She picked it up and cleaned it off on her jacket and returned it to his mouth. “Bite down, Mr. Wikes,” she ordered. His wide teeth slowly ripped into the flesh of the apple and its juice dribbled into his mouth. He pleaded to her with wet eyes.

Daphne held a glistening spoonful of honey over Mr. Wilkes’ head and dappled his face with sticky sweetness. He twisted and wrested for position but only succeeded in sliding across the counter. “Why, Edgar, isn’t this what you wanted? To be the food?” Edgar coughed hard and the apple popped out of his mouth and fell to the floor. The hanging pots above him swam out of focus as the beautiful chef leaned down over him, her hair cascaded in layers of darkness.
 

r. Wilkes awoke to the whine of a large garbage truck. He turned his stiff neck to see the grimy green inside of a Dumpster. He sat in a foul pile of garbage bags, kitchen refuse and stinking liquid that swirled over his unshod feet. He hauled himself out of the container to the amazement of two burly garbage men. “Hey, Nature Boy, doing some diving?” The two men hooted and slapped thick hands together in mocking applause.

Edgar Wilkes found a neatly folded pile of his clothes on the stairs at the back of the restaurant. On top of them was a note from Daphne thanking him for a wonderful evening and a fresh bottle of Merlot. He quickly donned his clothes to the continued amusement of the garbage men and returned to the front of the restaurant to get his car. Now that his secret was out it was time to move again. The West Coast held a lot of promise, there were a large number of nouvelle cuisine restaurants where he might find the woman of his dreams who would gratefully cure him. He drove away, all four windows rolled down to wash away the stench of rotten food, and dreamed of large women in sunny CA.