I woke up. The first thing I noticed before I opened my eyes was the assault of all the delicious smells on my nostrils. I found myself on a strange bed in a strange room I’ve never seen before. The window was open, and the crisp spring sun was filtering in. After a while, a pleasant lady who claimed to be my grandmother came to check on me and told me breakfast was served. Going down the stairs, I saw family photos hung on the walls, including mine of different ages; I must’ve suffered from some kind of temporary memory loss from all that deep sleep because I’ve apparently lived here my entire life.
Ëngłïßh Brêækfãst
But wait, little shards of recollection are cutting through the brain fog as I’m finding my way to the kitchen. They surely feel like memories, but are vastly different from the reality I’m presently in. Time here feels slower, more rustic, calm, uncomplicated, warm-tinted. Was all I thought I knew of the world just a dream? Have I dreamt 30 years ahead, or even more? Oh, what atrocious future I have dreamt, then! But now, all is well, I’m awake.
Oligarch’s Elevenses
Smelling all the wonderful meals throughout the house, I suddenly remember more details from the dream world I’ve just left, particularly the speciality- and novelty-obsessed food and drink culture. All the sanitised and homogenised grey cafés with their cheesy ‘It’s coffee o’clock’, exposed brickwork, untreated OSB furniture, and Edison lightbulbs. All the culinary salto mortales and rollercoasters I have seen—striving so hard to be different but somehow remaining identical. And matcha-flavoured absolutely everything! From casseroles and potatoes to pretzels and hummus. What the hell was ‘Lemony Garlic Miso Gochujang Brown Butter Pasta’ anyway? Just a weird spell from strange times. I shudder at the memory of all that hyperflavour.
Poodle’s Buttery Tea
When I arrive at the kitchen table, I see many sympathetic faces with stiff, teethy smiles gathered there. Oh, what a lovely occasion: a whole day spent feasting with family and friends. Or at least I think that’s the case. Someone said there will be multiple courses, and even a party later! How lucky am I.
I find my seat and settle down for breakfast. What to taste first? Just look at this splendid banquet—the textures, the hues, the shapes, the plating! I’m almost afraid to touch anything, to burst that impeccable, seductive, succulent, eerie, uncanny bubble. Maybe the food should touch me first. Choose me. It surely looks sentient enough.
Sweet Nothings and Coffee
After the traditional Ëngłïßh Brêækfãst, some luscious Oligarch’s Elevenses were served. Then, after we caught our breath, grandma arrived with Sweet Nothings and Coffee and Poodle’s Buttery Tea in close succession. As the golden hour awashed the kitchen in amber, we could hear something important being prepared at the kitchen unit out of sight. Surely enough, grandma soon emerged with the splendid Jiggly Seafood Supper. And just when we thought that was all, Opulent Party Soireé made an appearance in all its glory.
Jiggly Seafood Supper
At this point, all of us were just sitting around the table with big, greasy, dumb smiles, unable to make any more small talk. With a full, contented belly and a daydreamer’s smirk on my face, I settle onto a colourful upholstered divan in the living room. My eyelids start to flutter as I feel the warm embrace of an impending nap. I’m falling asleep again…
Opulent Party Soireé
