Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

Hot Biscuits

Sherry Almond Ice Cream

Rum Pie

Pêches Flambées Royales

Peppermint Cloud Cake~

Devil’s Food Cake

Angel Berry Pie

Coffee Tea Milk

(Our water is trucked fifteen miles;

please help us save it.)

Thank you. Mrs. Santa Claus

It made me dizzy, so I looked out the window. We were still spang in the

middle of the grimmest desert in the world.

I started counting the calories in that subversive document. I got up to

three thousand and lost track, because fruit cups were placed in front of us. I

barely tasted mine-and my stomach jumped and started nibbling at my windpipe.

Daddy came in, said, “Well!” and sat down, too. Junior followed.

Mother said, “Charles, there is hardly anything here you can touch. I think

I had better-” She headed for the kitchen.

Daddy had started reading the menu. He said, “Wait, Martha! Sit down.”

Mother sat.

Presently he said, “Do I have plenty of clean handkerchiefs?”

Mother said, “Yes, of course. Why-”

“Good. I feel an attack coming on. I’ll start with the pot-au-feu and- Mother said,

“Charles!”

“Peace, woman! The human race has survived upwards of five million years

eating anything that could be chewed and swallowed.” Mrs. Santa Claus came back in

and Daddy ordered lavishly, every word stabbing my heart. “Now,” he finished, “if

you will have that carried in by eight Nubian slaves-”

“We’ll use a jeep,” Mrs. Santa Claus promised and turned to Mother.

Mother was about to say something about chopped grass and vitamin soup but

Daddy cut in with, “That was for both of us. The kids will order for themselves.”

Mother swallowed and said nothing.

Junior never bothers with menus. “I’ll have a double cannibal sandwich,” he

announced.

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Mrs. Santa Claus flinched. “What,” she asked ominously, “is a cannibal

sandwich?”

Junior explained. Mrs. Santa Claus looked at him as

if she hoped he would crawl back into the woodwork. At last she said, “Mrs. Santa

Claus always gives people what they want. But you’ll have to eat it in the kitchen;

other people will be coming in for dinner.”

“Oke,” agreed Junior.

“Now what would you like, honey?” she said to me.

“I’d like everything,” I answered miserably, “but I’m on a reducing diet.”

She clucked sympathetically. “Anything special you mustn’t eat?”

“Nothing in particular-just food. I mustn’t eat food.”

She said, “You will have a hard time choosing a lowcaloric meal here. I’ve

never been able to work up interest in such cooking. I’ll serve you the same as your

parents; you can eat what you wish and as little as you wish.”

“All right,” I said weakly.

Honestly, I tried. I counted up to ten between bites, then I found I was

counting faster so as to finish each course before the next one arrived.

Presently I knew I was a ruined woman and I didn’t care. I was surrounded by

a warm fog of calories. Once my conscience peeked over the edge of my plate and I

promised to make up for it tomorrow. It went back to sleep.

Junior came out of the kitchen with his face covered by a wedge of

pinkstriped cake. “Is that a cannibal sandwich?” I asked.

“Huh?” he answered. “You should see what she’s got out there. She ought to

run a training table.”

A long time later Daddy said, “Let’s hit the road. I hate to.”

Mrs. Santa Claus said, “Stay here if you like. We can accommodate you.”

So we stayed and it was lovely.

I woke up resolved to skip even my twenty-eight calories of tomato juice,

but I hadn’t reckoned with Mrs. Santa Claus. There were no menus; tiny cups of

coffee appeared as you sat down, then other things, decep

tively, one at a time. Like this: grapefruit, milk, oatmeal and cream, sausage and

eggs and toast and butter and jam, bananas and cream-then when you were sure that

they had played themselves out, in came the fluffiest waffle in the world, more

butter and strawberry jam and syrup, and then more coffee.

I ate all of it, my personality split hopelessly between despair and

ecstasy. We rolled out of there feeling wonderful. “Breakfast,” said Daddy, “should