Word: Pumpernickel

 

pumpernickel

[ puhm-per-nik-uhl ]

noun

1. a coarse, dark, slightly sour bread made of unbolted rye.

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               The light of the teleport spell faded, leaving two figures in the otherwise empty field. One of them, a young man wearing an odd ensemble of leather and cloth, collapsed into the plant life He disappearing from view in the stalks that were nearly as high as his head.

               “That is not easy.” He said, each word interrupted by a deep gulp of air.

               “The fact that you can cast a teleportation spell at all is an impressive feat.” Said the other person, a young woman wearing a dress made of several different layers of cloth. “That you can bring another person as well is nothing short of a miracle. No wonder everyone wants otherworlders to fight their battles.”

               “Yeah, right. Don’t remind me. So, where are we?”

               “I don’t know every inch of the world, Adam.”

               “Well, do you know this one?”

               The woman looked around, poking her head over the top of the plants. “No idea. Perhaps some farm somewhere. I think this is all wheat.” She ran a hand along the top of the plant. “Oh, nevermind. Not a farm.”

               Adam stood and looked at the plants. “Why do you say that? This looks like good wheat to me.”

               “It’s useless. It’s too coarse and doesn’t taste good.”

               Adam looked at his companion curiously. “Doesn’t taste good? This is rye, isn’t it?”

               “I don’t know. That’s not what we call it. I could be the same thing, I suppose. Why?”

               “Because rye is great stuff. If there’s no famrer around, do you think anyone would mind if I take some?”

               “Of course not. Why would you want any? Like I said, it’s useless.”

               “Useless? Not on your life. Elna, my friend, I’m about to open your eyes to the possibilities. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my grandma’s recipe for pumpernickel.” Adam said, already gathering up the grains. As he did, they vanished into his magical storage.

               “Pumpernickle? Is that a food or a metal?”

               “It’s bread. A damn fine one. Once I get this stuff ground into flour, I’ll make a starter and then I can work some real culinary magic. Oh, in the meantime, I can make a good hearty marble rye!”

               Elna watched him go, moving with a fervor rarely seen in the odd man. “I swear you otherworlders have the strangest tastes, especially with food. I’ve heard of one building a room especially for meat that he just leaves there. I mean, really, it’s nonsense.”

               “Wait, you mean there’s a guy out there who knows how to dry age meat?” Adam asked. Now he was getting really excited. “Oh man, put some of the on the pumpernickel I’m going to make and I promise you’ll never have a sandwich that good again.”

               “What’s a sandwich?” Elna asked.

               Adam deflated. In a world with literal magic, it was hard to believe how bland the food was. “Seriously, you people have no imagination when it comes to food. Sometimes I’m amazed you know what salt is. Anyway, I was serious about wanting to know where the dry age guy is. Do you know?”

               “Somewhere in Valtenia, last I heard. I don’t know if he’s still alive though.”

               “Great! Then that’s where we’re headed to next. Just let me gather some more rye and we’re golden.”

               Elna sighed. “I swear, I’ll never understand you. You have vast magical powers, and were summoned to fight a great battle against the forces of darkness. And yet, all you want to do is make bread.”

               “Bread is love. Bread is life. Anyone can stab something with a long stick. But baking? That’s something that can change the world.”

              ************************

Money? Power? No. Food is what really makes the world go round. All civilization started because of food.

Word: Invaluable

 

invaluable

[ in-val-yoo-uh-buhl ]

adjective

1. beyond calculable or appraisable value; of inestimable worth; priceless: an invaluable art collection; her invaluable assistance.

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                  The sun beat down in the cloudless sky. It was a constant thing. The heat, the dry wind. Kevin would never get used to the sky without clouds. To the constant, rainless weather. He never though he would miss rain. Or the color green. Or any number of other things, really.

                  He licked his lips in a vain attempt to bring some level of moisture to them, but the hot air whisked it all away before it made any difference. It was something else he never though he would miss. The sound of footsteps on the dry ground brought him out of his thoughts.

                  “Don’t just stop, Grandpa.” Daniel said. His eldest grandson held a crude spear draped over his shoulder, but was not keeping his eyes as open as he should have. The other two were much more alert. “We have to keep going if we want to find anything in time to get back home.”

                  “Yes, yes, I know.” Kevin said. He was old, but not old enough that his grandchildren would be taking care of him. “I was just getting the lay of the land. Nobody’s been out this way in years. Who knows what we might find.”

                  Daniel rolled his eyes. It was heartening, in a way. The world might be barren and civilization collapsed, but teenagers would never change. He felt a rare smile cross his face for a moment before he went back to searching. Of course, there was nothing. Nothing but rock a dirt for miles.

                  The small group kept walking, eyes peeled for threats or treasures. It was one of the grandkids that found something. The youngest one, Marcus.

                  “That rock looks weird.” The young boy said with a small giggle. “It’s all lumpy.”

                  Daniel huffed and went to chastise his younger brother, telling him that it was nothing. Kevin took a closer look. The rock was indeed odd. In fact, once he trained an eye on it, he doubted it was even a rock. He headed over and slowly knelt down, feeling old pains in his knees as he did. He looked closely and his eyes widened.

                  “This…this is…” He reached down to what was not a rock.

                  It was an apple. Or at least the remains of one. It was clearly old and certainly not edible. But it was intact. It had been years since Kevin had seen a piece of fruit, so even this stirred far too many emotions in his old soul. But other than that, there was more. He pulled out an old knife, one of the few metal tools left, and began cutting into the dry, shrivled fruit. He let out a wild cheer when he saw the treasure inside.

                  “Come over here, all of you!” He called. All three of his grandchildren came over.

                  “What is it, Grandpa?” The middle child, Caroline, asked. She shuffled as close as she could, craning her neck to get a better look.

                  “Do you know what these are?” Kevin asked, holding up his newfound treaures. All three shook their heads.

                  “Looks like some kind of rock.” Daniel said.

                  “A rock. Yes, I suppose it would, wouldn’t it? No, these are the single greatest treasures we can find. The greatest, most precious things you’ll ever see. These are seeds. Apple seeds. Put them in the ground and give them water. In a few years, you’ll have apples. Fruit. Food. Good food.”

                  That grabbed all of their attention. “These…make food?” Marcus asked. “But they’re so small.”

                  “Right now they are. But they’ll grow. It won’t be fast. Honestly, I might not even be alive to see them bloom. But as long as there’s water and people to care for them, they will grow.”

                  “That’s…” Daniel said. “We need to get these back to shelter. There’s water there, right? Is that enough?”

                  “I hope so.” It was just a small stream, but it was steady. It would have to be enough. “I really hope so. Mark this place. We’ll come back here, just in case there’s more. Where there’s one apple, there could be more. But we can’t be too greedy. We have the seeds now. We should get them home and hope someone there can grow them properly. Come on, all of you. Let’s hurry.”

                  Kevin tucked the seeds, five small bundles of hope, into the crude bag at his side. Together, the four of them made their way to the small gathering of people that they called home.

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   Remember, should all civilization collapse, finding a steady source of food and water is crucial to survival. It's probably not so important for someone like me though. Chances are that I'll be one of the first to go in the inevitable chaos. Yeah, I don't have many survival skills. Or physical fitness. Or, well, anything that'll help me live for long. 
   

Word: Gastrodiplomacy

 

gastrodiplomacy

[ gas-troh-di-ploh-muh-see ]

noun

1. the strategic promotion of a nation's cuisine to build diplomatic connections and favorable public relations for that nation, such as by funding grants to open restaurants, create food-oriented workshops, publish cookbooks, etc.

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                  Glick was annoyed, but he managed to keep it from showing. Not that an ignorant human would be able to tell his emotions. They were little more than evolved primates, even by the standards of a young species. Really, there were so many better enterprises that were more worth his time than humans. But, his boss had seen something in them. Some opportunity for profit.

                  Across from him sat several humans. Glick had to think to remember the difference between sexes. Only two sexes. What kind of sentient species only had two sexes? It was enough to make his stomachs churn. There were three humans, two males and one female. All were clothed in what Glick supposed was nicely for their species. Not that he could tell. One of the males was older, the other was quite a bit rounder around the middle, while the female look almost unremarkable in every way Glick could think of.

                  “Thank you for meeting us.” The older male said. “My name is Adam Heathe. My associates are Janet Miller and Kevin Steppe.”

                  The female and large male nodded when the elder gave their names. Glick mentally parsed the information. It took him a moment to remember the protocol and cultural information.

                  “I am Glick, senior vice manage of acquisitions of Bright Star Enterprises.” He said. “I hear you have some potential business for us?”

                  “We do.” Mr. Heathe said.

                  “And what is the nature of this business?”

                  “Cuisine.” The female, Mrs. Miller, said. “We humans have a long and diverse history of food preparation, and we would love to share it with the galactic community. We have plans for a wide variety of culinary cultures from all areas of the planet.”

                  Glick kept himself from showing his lack of interest. The species was not even a million years old. How could they have anything resembling good food? With any luck some of the local ingredients could be used by real chefs, but he doubted it.

                  “Really?” Glick said, feigning interest. “Well, it’s always exciting to see what each species can create on a plate. Do you have any samples?”

                  “Of course.” Mr. Steppe said. “We’ve brought a number of samples, ranging from high class dining to simple street food. We’ve also prepared a list so you can see roughly what’s in each one. Don’t worry, we’ve cleared everything with the bio boys. Nothing we brought will poison you.”

                  “Very good.” Glick was handed a basic data pad with the needed information. He would probably discard it later, but he had to at least pretend to be interested. “Where would you recommend I start?”

                  “With one of my personal favorites.” Mr. Steppe said, patting his rotund middle. “A nice slice of pizza.”

                  “Which I still say you need to lay off of.” Mrs. Miller said quietly. The comment was ignored.

                  “It’s a simple food. Common in most areas, with each nation having it’s own variety.” Mr. Heathe said. “We’ve brought one of the simplest and most popular varieties. A simple, common New York style cheese slice.”

                  A cart, driven by a simple drone, was brought it. On it was a pale, roughly triangular item. It looked bland to Glick. He wondered how such a dull looking thing would become popular with any reasonable species. He muscled down his distaste and took hold of it by the wider, slightly rounded end. It was floppy and a few beads of liquid, probably some sort of oil, dripped off it. Glick wanted nothing more than to toss it aside and leave. But, he still took a bite.

                  It was like nothing he had ever tasted before. A symphony of flavors, both simple and bold. A savory outer layer undercut by a sweety, tangy paste underneath. It was that and so much more. It was…divine in a way. He barely noticed the looks the three humans exchanged with each other.

                  “This…this is available anywhere?” He asked, almost reverently.

                  “Most places, yes. There are eateries dedicated to just pizza in most large cities.” Mr. Heathe said.

                  “Where I’m from, you have a pizza place on damn near every corner.” Mr. Steppe chimed in.

                  “It’s incredibly versatile.” Mrs. Miller said. “What you just ate is almost the default, if such a thing can be said to exist. You can put other things on top of the cheese in a huge number of combinations. Plus, there are other styles and methods of cooking. Our chefs can easily create a type of pizza for each species of the galactic community, provided they get access to the proper ingredients.”

                  “I…I see.” Glick said. He shook, trying very hard not to seem desperate for another bite.

                  “Do you want to finish that, or shall we move onto the next entry in our taste test?” Mr. Heathe asked.  

                  “I suppose we should, yes.”

                  “Very good. Our next entry is equally versatile. It can even be put on pizza, although our health experts say not to. It’s called bacon.”

                  As another cart was wheeled out, Glick gazed almost longingly at the newest offering. Maybe these humans were worth doing business with after all. 

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   If you're going to try and make a good impression on aliens, then you damn well better start with pizza and bacon. Those are what you use to sink the hooks in, and then reel them in with everything else.