75. The Poultice

When I asked my mum if I could bring a friend to Devin’s birthday dinner she said of course I could as long as it wasn’t the monstruous big eater. I assured her this friend was no big eater. He was too tiny and unaccustomed to eat to be one. I told her he was one of the Leafies and that pleased her.

“Ah, the forest samaras. Loyal rustics that hate progress and are loyal to me. If everyone were like them I could stay home tonight and dine on simple bread and butter. What a headache awaits me. And not just because of the headdress I will be wearing. Help me decide, sweetie. Choose between these two outfits, Arley.”

She showed me the only two outfits she had that she had not yet worn in public. I chose the one that was butterfly themed. It seemed lighter than the other, which was pretty too, but heavy with beads.

“Good choice,” she said. “These are monarch butterflies. They will help me show everyone who is boss. Now I have to rest for a while dear, to look my best tonight. So if there is nothing else you need...”

I let Mum have her nap in peace and went to dress myself and fetch Vinny.

So on the evening of Devin’s birthday, Vinny and I showed up at The Poultice.

On the outside the restaurant was not precisely spectacular, a closer to small than large white building with darkly smoked glass windows and a red carpet under an awning out in the street that led to a door flanked by a couple of  large pots with small trees. But on the inside it was dazzling.

Huge, many armed glass chandeliers hang from all the ceilings lighting up the different chambers. Everything on the white linen clothed tables sparkled reflecting their light. The silverware was polished so you could see yourself in it. Plump little crystal flower vases filled with miniature roses and tiny, shell shaped tealight candle holders graced the tables. Here and there were white marble columns that bore delicate porcelain baskets filled with lilies and fern leaves. The chairs were ormulu fringed and tapestried in bright colours and bound with elegant dark blue velvet bows.

     

                  

We were led by the singing waiters, little amoretti with incredibly deep voices, to the table reserved for my family.

                                    

Dad was already there, sitting by Heather and Thistle. Devin, the birthday boy, was there too and perched on his fancy golden chair were his pet parrots. My other, all older, brothers and sisters were not expected. They were usually too busy to come to any but their own birthday parties, though some would put in an appearance at certain family gatherings when least expected. Mum had not arrived yet. Dad said she was probably wanting to make a grand entrance. He said it would have been a much grander entrance if we had all entered together like the close family we were.

                            

My brother Devin was 400 and something years old that day. But he is living what my parents call a much belated adolescence.

Since they invented computers, he wants little to do with the company of other fairy folk and considers every moment spent away from his computers a waste of precious time. He lives holed up in his own rooms in my parents’ palace, never having moved to his own ideal home. His rooms are so crowded with cables entering them is like falling into a snake pit, and there are computers, monitors, scanners and printers of the year you ask for hoarded in there. And... Devin was in a bad mood because Dad had forced him away from his computers and made him come to his party.

“We are not united,” he began to grouch. “Only the airheads are here.”

                            

“Hey!” cried Thistle. “We’re centuries younger than you but we are not airheads! You are a spoiled brat and a spoilsport and a killjoy and ungrateful too, trying to poop the party your parents have taken the trouble to organize for you.”

“I’m only here because Dad said he wouldn’t give me the gift he promised me if I didn’t show. And I need it.”

It didn’t look as if he had bothered to dress for the occasion. He wore the garments of a skateboarder, two t-shirts, baggy pants, sneakers and a baseball cap with the visor turned to his back. Dad was not happy about that.

“I don’t know how they let you in here. You have to wear a tie to these places.”

“They offered me one at the door. I have it in my satchel. But I did dress for the occasion. I could have come in my pajamas.”

That was true. Lately Dev spends most of his time lounging in his pajamas.

“You should at least have worn one of your silk sherwanis and churidans,” said Dad. “Those are elegant.”

Dad said that because Devin was Indian before my parents adopted him and there was a time when he liked to dress the part.

Dad told Devin that gentlemen removed their hats when they entered an enclosed space. Ladies could keep them on, but it was rude for men to do that.

“I’m not taking off my cap while you are wearing on your head that hat for a king.”

“If you mean my crown, it’s my privilege to wear it whenever and wherever I please,” said my dad. “I’m king. I’m not only allowed to do that. I’m supposed to do it to show who is boss.”

One of Devin’s parrots suddenly flew off his shoulder and pecked Dad’s nose. Fortunately Dad is a very calm person. He takes offense so rarely that people think he is too bland. But he says he likes to pick his fights and has the serenity to do it.

 “Why did you bring all those parrots?” he whispered to Devin, rubbing his nose. “A restaurant like this one is no place for them. And if you feel you need to say something unpleasant to me, smile while you say it. Like I do. I’m smiling at you because everybody is looking at us. I honestly hope no one here can read lips,” he said, chuckling himself at how funny he sounded.  “When your mother sees the way you are dressed she is sure to say I should have let her bring you up like she wanted to. But how can I teach you to behave in public if you never go anywhere? Not even to those drinking parties kids have taken to having. Well, I shouldn’t criticize you for that. And I won’t.”

For some reason, Dad seemed bent on teaching us manners that night. Once in a while it gets into his head that he ought to teach us something useful and this was one of those times.

Thistle leaned a little forward and asked our sister, “Heather, who brought us up?”

                       

“Nobody,” replied Heather. “We’re younger children. Our brothers and sisters made our parents throw the towel before we were born. We educate ourselves observing other people and reaching our own conclusions.”

“Best thing we could have done, to let you do that,” said Dad, “for you’re doing a very good job, I must say.You have to be very smart to grow up right on your own.”

                           

“I’ve learned a lot in books,” I put in. I think  I sometimes feel I have a right to be heard too.

“Look, children,” said Dad, pointing at the array of forks and knives and spoons on the sides of the dish before each of us. “When the waiter brings the first thing we’ve ordered, you have to begin by using the ones that are the furthest from your plate. Eating out can be very educational. It’s best to try new kinds of food, things you´ve never tasted before.”

“That’s why I’m here!” cried Vinny happily. He was sitting in a miniature chair the waiters had set on the table next to me and to a round flower vase that looked like a shady tree next to him. He had been looking all about him, breathing in the flowers and the lights and the wonderful atmosphere that surrounded him, oblivious to the bickering going on at our table.

“Vinny and I are going to share a tasting menu,” I said. “It has lots of dishes and takes four hours to eat. Mum said we could order it.”

“Good choice,” nodded Dad approvingly.

“Four hours? I have to sit here for four hours? This is outrageous!” cried Devin. “What is it to me if you have to come here so it will look as if you can control all the unruly people who come to eat here?”

“If your mum doesn’t show up soon it might be six hours,” said Dad.

Devin was right about one thing. Mum and Dad had chosen to dine at The Poultice to see and be seen. It was becoming a gathering place for fairies that had more of the  wicked witch in them and were trying to be more important than royalty. Mum and Dad had to prove they were aware of this, and ready to stop anyone who went too far.

I tried to change the subject asking Vinny to read the Tasting Menu out loud. It was as long and fancy as one could expect. The reason why the restaurant was named after a poultice was because most of the dishes served there were presented resting on some kind of edible bed or wrap.

“Songbirds’ eggshells stuffed with steamed sunflower buds wrapped in pansy petals held together by snail slime on a bed of cabbage with green spinach pasta ribbons.

Zumalacárregui of piquillo peppers stuffed with male and female garlic and Siamese hot peppers with a pink cactus tassel.

Hot sunflower seed, warm Iberian acorn and frozen Lebanese chickpea patés served on unleavened bread.

Dates and gladioli stuffed with wild yellow mushrooms, dandelion cream, Artic tundra lichen jam and rosy peas on a bed of moss decorated with passionflowers.

Silver apples of the moon and golden apples of the sun salad, with carrot flower umbels and seven varieties of lettuce lightly boilled in St. Benedict’s thistle brew and dressed with almond oil and modena vinegar with pearls dissolved in it.

Cicada shell croutons filled with blue cheese cured in Gallic dragons’ caves on a bed of anise flavored yellow hibiscus petals with a spread of glazed chestnut purée.

Eggplants varnished with paprika and honey and stuffed with Nepalese rice, pistachios, sultanas and cardamom on a bed of grape leaves sprinkled with magic beans from gigantic stalks and painted with black, green and yellow mustards. 

Woodsman’s rye breadcrumbs with green mold that have spent the night on a central European forest path under the rays of a blue moon served on an omelet of spider webs steeped in summer dew.

Melusine of seaweeds from the English Channel stewed with Brussels sprouts and spring potatoes from Tir Nan Og on a papyrus of water lilies macerated in lime juice and boiled in bimillenial Egyptian beer.

Lettuce cups stuffed with hallowini pumpkin roasted with olive tree wood in a sauce of Tahitian vanilla beans on a blue ginger pancake spread with purple butter.

Mille feuille of golden rod honeycombs with salted cashews and caramelized violet onions between layers on a bed of lavender tinted snapdragon petals sewn together with sweet egg threads.

Rhododendron sorbet in Finnish pine tree bark wafer cones served on a plaque of sans rival meringue with wisdom hazelnut shavings and a crepe flambéed with Jamaican rum by Slavic firebirds.

Roses of the Alhambra loukoumia on a braid of jasmine from Madagascar floating in a melomel soup.

And last but not least, an Aztec chocolate surprise.”

Everyone was quiet while Vinny read the whole tasting menu out loud. When he was done, they burst into applause. After that, it  was Heather who broke the silence.

“All that sounds very appetizing, Vinny,” she said, “but, Arley, be careful when you eat. Remember what happened to you when you bit the mutant apple.”

“Oh, Heathie,” said Dad, “what would we do without you? You’re a sweetheart, honey.  Always worried about everyone. Eat slowly, Arley. At least we’ll know what got you if anything happens.”

“What about Vinny?” said Thistle. “He’s not used to eating. He can’t know which foods disagree with him. Maybe he should watch it. Something might happen to him.”

“Nothing will happen to him,” said Devin. “With all the pesticides and other junk they feed plants nowadays and they still go on living!This food is at least supposed to be excellent quality. Not that I care. I wanted to order deli pizza.”

“Don’t say that out loud here,” snapped Dad. “You’ll sound ignorant.”

                             

“Look, here comes Mum!” cried Thistle.  “With lots of butterflies in her hair the parrots might want to play with.”

“Don’t worry about being overheard, Daddy,” whispered Heather.“Devin, if you  brought the parrots to create confusion, do it. Tell the parrots to hover about repeating random words, Dev. Nobody will know what we are quarreling about.