Maneater’s
“This spotted owl is delightful, is it not?” Mr. Purcell asked me while dabbing delicately at his chin with a napkin.
“Indeed it is–even better than the manatee we had last week.” We had met on an internet site devoted to our shared interest and he had taken me under his wing almost two weeks ago. Since then we had dined at a variety of venues that don’t appear in the phone book. The exotic flavors became more addictive with each meal, until I found myself completely bored with mass-produced food like beef and chicken.
“Tell me, Brian: what is the ultimate forbidden food?”
I gave his question some thought. Elephant? Killer whale? Sea turtle soup? “I’m not sure,” I replied.
He looked at me for an uncomfortable moment. “Man is the ultimate forbidden food. Ironic, isn’t it, considering we are the most plentiful type of meat on the planet?” Immediately I knew what he was suggesting, and I had to admit that the idea was intriguing.
“Where does one go to get such a… delicacy?” I asked.
“There is one restaurant to which I have not taken you. If you are willing, I could make us a reservation for next week. It is called Maneater’s.”
Mr. Purcell asked me to wear a blindfold for the ride, which took us almost an hour. The building was unexceptional and the door anonymous. His knock was answered by an unsmiling behemoth who showed us to our table without a word. Our waiter was a nervous man who did not introduce himself or look at either of us directly. Each of the tables was closed off from the others with a series of screens and partitions.
“Is there a menu?” I asked my mentor.
“No, people don’t come here for the chicken. Ah, here is our entrée now!” The plates held a sizeable portion, ungarnished and unaccompanied. It sat on the plate in a pool of its own juices and I wondered if I would be able to go through with it.
“Tonight’s special is truly special, Brian. I knew him, you see.” Mr. Purcell cut off a bite and held it to his lips, then interrupted the conversation to slowly chew it. He made it look truly delicious. “Eat up my boy, eat up!” I looked again at my plate and tentatively picked up my knife and fork. My stomach revolted at the smell of the meat.
“His name was Andrew,” Mr. Purcell continued, “and he was a former associate of mine. Very like you, actually. The rarer the species, the more he liked it. Until we came here.” I could see his eyes watching me as I held the meat to my lips.
“It was a shame that he couldn’t stomach the special here–evidently his nerve failed him. Of course, by then he knew that Maneater’s existed, so he also couldn’t be trusted to keep it secret. This was the only humane solution. Ironically, he really would have enjoyed his own flavor–he’s quite succulent!” Mr. Purcell ended his monologue with a telling glance from my fork to me.
Hurriedly I took the bite that I had cut and chewed it. “Mm. Andrew is delicious,” I lied.
