It Stood Alone

It’s a dish usually served cold, remarkably frigid

Sitting under the cloche, it remains hidden and once revealed it makes its appearance on the colorless plate. 

Unadorned, lacking presentation and seasoned in a saucy, bitter coulis emulsified with the seed of  indifference, it calls out from the table. 

Coming from an open, accesible kitchen where every ingredient was made available, the result of the recipe is a surprise. 

This should have been a five-star flavor infused experience; instead, it is mixture of apathy, self-absorption and calculated disappointment. 

The cook clearly gave this enough thought to deliver the concoction, but the meal recipient was unaware of what was coming. 

The diner was waiting patiently for an exchange that was meritous of the moment, a mundane, routine event where day to day remained undisrupted. 

That moment was not to be. 

The deliberate change in routine was curiously not routine. 

The breaking of a daily habit is not an easy task and the sharing of personal space with known strangers is far more difficult. 

Still, there it was. 

After opening doors and hearts, the kitchen turned out this marvel. 

And as a marvel it was anything but…

It was a dish usually served cold…

Bland and unimpressive…

Clashing with the vintage on the table…

Never pairing well with the wine of generosity…

This serving of ingratitude, on the colorless plate…

It stood alone. 


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