2014 – A Year In Stories: Week 51 – The Perfect Burger

0

Posted on December 29, 2014 by

One more week holy crap.

As the year officially ends on Thursday this week the last story will be coming out a little earlier than normal (as in the first half week of the year I didn’t write) so look out for that one.

This one was suggested by Joe Ruppert, and his idea was simply ‘The perfect burger’.

2014 – A Year In Stories
Week 151
The Perfect Burger

Freda drew her coat in around her to ward off the cold as she walked down the dark, empty street. The only object dimly lighting her way was a far off neon sign hanging from a building reminding her of the recently implemented ban on beef products due to the cattle shortage.

She was absolutely desperate for a burger, but since the epidemic of the new strain of BSE that had swept the planet, cattle stocks had been too low to allow any meat to be produced.

After a quick glance around her to check for any loitering delinquents, Freda stopped and fished in her pocket, pulling out a battered, creased photograph of a burger. Sighing, she took a longing look at the picture.

“Psst,” she heard someone hiss. Startled, Freda folded the picture back up and put it back in to her pocket.
“Psst,” the hiss came again. “You, lady.”
“I’ve got a knife,” Freda said, willing as much confidence in to her voice as possible.
“What?” the voice replied. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”
“I’m pretty sure that in the entirety of recorded human history, there has been no instance of someone approaching someone in this manner with anything that can be of remote assistance to them whatsoever.”
“Very well,” the voice replied. “Allow me to reveal myself.”

Slowly a middle aged man appeared out of the shadows in front of her. His arms were held aloft, as to show he had no weapons.

“I saw you longing after that burger,” he said. “I can help you with your craving.”
“You make it sound like I’m some sort of drug addict,” Freda said.
“Well is that so far fetched?” the man replied. “You desire to consume something beyond rational reason, and the inability to fulfil that desire drives you to distraction. The food itself may not be a drug but its absence has the same chemical effect of withdrawal on the body.”
“Fair point,” Freda conceded.

She hated to admit it but the man was right. All of her friends thought she was insane when she held a candlelit vigil the day the beef ban was announced. Her passion for burgers was unsurpassed in her social group, and all of the rest of them had merely dismissed it as in an inconvenient few years of no beef until cattle stocks had replenished to acceptable levels.

A few well meaning souls had suggested she try turkey or lamb mince burgers instead until she could switch back. She almost felt bad about how she had nearly bitten their heads off and had them between two sesame seed buns.

It sounded stupid that she had been affected so much by it, but 9 out of her 10 favourite restaurants had closed their doors, and she now had to find a substitute for roughly half her weekly meals. It was a big culture shock for her.

“OK,” she said to the man after a short pause. “What have you got?”
“There is a place, not far from here, where some illicit meat has been obtained. They are serving burgers and steaks to the discerning customer…for the right price of course.”
“That sounds ridiculous,” Freda scoffed. “I bet it’s terrible meat and I’d be paying through the nose for a rubbish burger. Thanks, but I’ll pass on this occasion.”
“Very well…” the man said. “But it would be such a shame to waste an opportunity to try such good quality Kobe beef because of such suspicions…”

Damnit, Freda thought. It had been 6 months since she had tasted a delicious burger. And Kobe beef was the best around.

“I’ll bite,” she said. “How much?”
“£50 a burger.”
“£50! That’s daylight robbery!” Freda exclaimed.
“That’s a bargain,” the man asserted. “This stuff costs more than oil spread with caviar. I guarantee you that anywhere else you go in this city will charge you five times that for a cut this good.”
“Then why are you selling it so cheap?”
“Let’s just say that the heat is on my contact and he is keen to ensure quick disposal of the product.”
“OK, fine. Take me.”

#

Ten minutes later they found themselves wandering up to a small cafe in a nearby council estate.

Freda clutched the knife in her pocket just in case this turned out to be some elaborate long con to steal her kidneys, but her excitement at the prospect of getting to eat some delicious beef was mostly overriding any fear. If she was honest with herself she would probably have licked the remains of a Big Mac off the soles of someone’s shoe right now, so entering a dark foreboding cafe armed with a sharp knife wasn’t so outlandish.

The man, who had since given his name as Rudy upon her insistence, ushered her in to the building. As he came in behind he pulled the shutters down on the window and flipped the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’.

The cafe was empty, and had the sign not suggested otherwise upon entering, Freda would have sworn that they had shut up shop for the night. Chairs were up on tables, drinks fridges were turned off and no proprietor was anywhere to be found.

“Go on through to the back,” Rudy urged.

Freda walked to the back of the cafe and pushed open the door leading to the kitchen. The scene behind the door made her jaw drop.

Sat in the spacious kitchen were dozens of people waiting for a taste of delicious Kobe. People just like her who were willing to defy the ban to get a taste of what they loved. Waiters and waitresses bustled between makeshift tables while along one wall a chef cooked up burgers and steaks on the cafe’s flat top grill.

The smell in the speakeasy, or meateasy she supposed, was overwhelming. The delicious perfumes of cooking beef wafted in to her nostrils. It was enough to nearly make her melt to the floor with joy.

One of the waiters led her to a table, which she shared with several other diners, and took her order of a Kobe beef burger with cheese, pickles, onions and lettuce. Patiently she waited as the other people on her table all received and devoured their orders.

As the waiter finally brought her order over Freda practically snatched it out of his hands. The first bite was perfect, although she couldn’t tell if the richness of the flavour was due to it being as good as the man said, or if it was simply a case of her tastebuds forgetting what good beef tasted like and that at this point, anything would do the trick.

The rest of the burger was all a blur, but if you had asked her afterwards she wouldn’t have been able to say for certain that she had not shed a small tear of joy at finally being able to taste something so delicious again.

Less than two minutes after taking the first bite, she slid the last remnants of the burger in to her mouth and let out a satisfied sigh.

Her jubilation was short lived, however, as one of the patrons a couple of tables away from her stood up, pulled his coat back to reveal a police badge and shouted “This is a raid!”

After, Freda noted, he had finished his steak.

Customers and staff alike scattered as several other undercover officers revealed the,selves around the room. One, on her table, made a grab for Freda, but luckily she managed to wriggle free and shot off towards the back exit through the store room.

Luck was on her side as the policemen seemed not to have noticed her slip out the back way. As she stalked through the dark store room she cursed as she banged her leg against something hard. Taking out her smartphone she lit up the obstacle to find that it was a case full of cuts of Kobe beef. Quickly she looked around and weighed up her ability to flee and carry the case at the same time. She decided it was worth it.

Five minutes later she found herself running down the street on which she had met Rudy, the case of beef held in front of her. She was out of breath and after essentially inhaling the burger was feeling a bit sick, but she knew that she had to get home.

Turning the corner in to her own street, she had to dive behind a tree as she saw a police car drive past the other end of the road. When coast was clear she walked as nonchalantly as possible while being out of breath to her front door, fumbled for her keys and opened it.

“Where have you been?” her flatmate asked. “You look like you’ve had a run in with the police or something.”
“You’re not far wrong,” Freda said, huffing and puffing. “But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“What’s that you’re carrying?”
“Let’s just say that dinner is on me.”

EmailDiggFacebookGoogle+PinterestReddittumblrStumbleUponTwitter

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>