2 liters H2O

50 grams opoponax resin

NaCl to taste

C12H22O11 to taste

1 bar of lemon soap

100 grams oatmeal

 

 

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            No, I have never seen a meal like that before. Resting upon the table, glancing back like a cyclopean demon. To be sure, it adheres to the Rabbinical laws of consumption; however, its unorthodoxy could hardly be deemed kosher. What of it. Man must push the boundaries and push hard. Easy enough to do in the culinary arts.

            Hence matzo ball soup. A staple among the gentry from whom I hemidescended. Broth first, only natural. Opoponax resin gently folded into the boiling water, hot enough indeed that the resin could deliquesce. Of course, through the natural process of evaporation, the initial volume of the stock would decrease with increasing rate. Nifty act. Decrease the parts per water to increase parts per goodness. Salty and saccharine solutes, of course, aid and abet.

            Bloom looked askance at the pieces of apparatus constructed in the kitchen nearby. Darwin’s dogs, is efficiency and yield a worthy aspiration? Is it humane, loosely speaking, that lemon soap should be sublimated and vapor distilled into its constituent essences? The lemon liquids must have been added to flavor the broth, while the lipid soap must be a newfangled substitution for schmaltz. This, along with utterly macerated oatmeal, became this unseemly eye centered in my bowl.

            With his spoon, Bloom gently prodded the central mass. It bobbed slightly and precariously under its own buoyancy. A fine balance. The liquid poured to just the right volume and the matzo ball made to just the right mass that the placement of the ball into the bowl displaced the liquids rightly to the brim. Good heavens. After creating a dish so seemingly unpalatable, is it really just to make its consumption so difficult? With no other alternatives, Bloom cocked his head and put his lips up to the rim of the bowl. Pfftt! It gives off such lovely aromas and yet it tastes of dirt.

            Bloom politely ingested several spoonfuls of the creation. Cannot take much more of this. What can I. O! Allergens, of course.

—My, is there opoponax in this?

—For the aromas, yes.

—I am frightfully sorry to offend, but opoponax does my body unwell. Too much more and I’m afraid I may asphyxiate!

           Not the worst of lies. The truth was nearby. Acrid tastes put my mind into a fuzzyfuddled stupor.