“Anything good?” Freeman asked, while dumpster diving behind a splendid restaurant with best friend Mo and acting as the lookout.
“Dunno yet,” Moe said from deep inside the dumpster, “but something smells good.”
The two men were once neighborhood regulars in Seattle’s Pioneer Square, but increased drug trafficking, political demonstrations and drunken crowds from pro sporting events had chased them north along Aurora Avenue to downtown Everett in the vicinity of Hewitt and Colby avenues.
“Check this,” Moe said, handing Freeman a remnant of steak. “I think it’s filet mignon.”
“What’s that brown stuff on it? Mustard?” Freeman asked.
“No, I think that’s foie gras.”
“Force-fed goose liver. Popular in France. Rich people like it slathered on meat. Or a cracker. Kinda like caviar.”
“Don’t care for caviar,” Freeman said. “Too salty.”
“Give it a lick, and tell me what you think,” Moe replied. “There’s more here if you like it.”
Freeman ran his finger over the meat and then over his tongue.
“Tastes kinda rich, but not bad!” he said, savoring the taste for only a moment before taking a full bite of steak. “I do believe it adds something to the meat. And the beef ain’t half-bad to begin with.”
“Think so?” said Moe, still deep inside the dumpster and talking through his own mouthful of food. “Gotta watch myself. Rich food doesn’t agree with me. Got a fussy gall bladder. Heartburn troubles, too.”
Freeman was about to concur when a door in the alley suddenly flew open and a dishwasher from restaurant emerged with a fresh can of refuse.
“Get outta here, bum,” the worker called out as Freeman dropped the dumpster lid and sped away on foot. The dishwasher then muttered something about needing a lock as he lifted the lid and dumped the contents of his can on Moe before going back inside.
“Moe, Moe, you all right,” Freeman said after slipping back.
“Yeah, great,” Moe replied. “He got me good. Covered in bisque, crab and some other shellfish . . . Oh, my god, its oysters Rockefeller!”
“Save me some.”
“Would you like bread with that, Sir? Some salad perhaps? We have what once looked like a lovely Caesar here. Or a house salad with blue cheese.”
“Gimme the blue cheese. You know I don’t like Caesar,” Freeman said. “All that raw egg. Can’t be too careful about what you eat.”
“I hear you, man,” Moe replied. “Bad enough just eating the stuff you recognize. Even at that, I’ve read some food nowadays has crushed up beaver anal gland – castoreum they call it – mixed in as a natural flavor additive.”
Stop,” Freeman said, “you’re making me sick.”
“It’s probably the foie gras,” Moe replied. “It’ll pass. Just have a cigarette – although I hear there’s castoreum in ciggies, too.”
“Great,” Freeman said. “Next time I see someone coming, I’ll just slap the pavement with my tail.”
(Note: This was written as Writers Kickstart prompt (500 words or less) on the topic, That’s Rich.)
2 responses to “That’s Rich!”
Description City. Disgusting.
Easy, Reverend. Let’s do lunch. I know a place that serves imitation, low-cal crushed anal beaver gland. But, shsh, you have to ask for it.