Maybe I will eat something sweet.
I whisper this to the voices in my head only on two occasions : when I am too happy, and when I am not. The in-between mood can handle other food.
It has been too many calendar changes to remember when it exactly happened, but it was during one of those early evenings when the world feels either out of focus or too much on edge.
I walk out of the final gate of my workplace and surveyed the possible options : culinary-based, of course. Every place was thick with an overdose of noise and frantic energy, that being the time when most people sign-off their workday.
In the swarm of the street, a newly opened cake shop showed a promise of solitary haven. It had opened up that very day, but the brand was no stranger. Their original branch, which served both sweet and savoury, had long been one of my frequented places. This wing was their first additional branch in the town, housing only cakes and pastries.
Without much thought, I walked in. There were no other customers, just two people handling the money and the food. I didn't dwell on choosing and asked for help... partly because my mind refused to do any more heavy lifting after the day that had been, and partly because I was under a strictly vegetarian food choice.
Since they had just opened, the customary green and red dots were missing. In their absence, I asked, "Which of these are the eggless ones?"
I was shown only two options: one with chocolate and one without. The decision was a no-brainer, absolutely catering to the need of the day.
"I will have the chocolate one, please."
Within a minute, I was handed a slice of cake in a disposable plate with a nondescript plastic spoon. That was my first meal of the day. With great eagerness, I scooped up the first bite. It was meant to be the magical first morsel and it was going to be chocolate; divinity was just around the corner of that oddly shaped spoon.
The first bite felt... off. Perhaps the day was wearing off and trying to wash itself up in that dark, mysterious dessert, shedding its taste onto my food. I decided to ignore the "remnants-of-the-day" flavour and find the good aspects: the presence of chocolate.
A few minutes later, the last piece was gone.. I went to pay the bill when I was asked the question I didn't want to be asked, "How was the taste?"
Food is sacred, and everything associated with it should be dealt with complete honesty. I was too. I probably shouldn't have been.
"The cake was soft. It tasted good for the most part. But I could taste something different... meringue-like smell."
"Oh! That must be the remnant egg-kind smell," the person who showed me the cakes said.
"Egg? How?" I was confused beyond my wits. The voices in my head shushed themselves to lean in on a conversation that promise an interesting turn. "How is the egg smell there in an eggless cake?"
The person smiled, paused, and said, "Yes, yes, it is eggless. Very less egg. But the faint smell may have been there. Most people can't smell it or taste it."
After a pause of perhaps a few micro-seconds, maybe my face spoke its mind, he reiterated, "Very less egg. Egg less."
Not eggless. Less egg. Was I hearing it right?
"But I asked specifically for eggless. I can't eat egg."
"Yes, no problem. It's eggless. Very, very less egg."
How do you cope with that? How to counter that? Could there be any counter? How communication fails!!
There went the few good minutes of the day... down the drain... swimming with the egg shells used in making the "eggless" cake.
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