The Rosie Project (Don Tillman #1)(15)

‘I don’t know what you’re cooking,’ Rosie called out, ‘but I’m basically vegetarian.’

Vegetarian! I had already commenced cooking! Based on ingredients purchased on the assumption that I would be eating alone. And what did ‘basically’ mean – did it imply some limited level of flexibility, like my colleague Esther, who admitted, only under rigorous questioning, that she would eat pork if necessary to survive?

Vegetarians and vegans can be incredibly annoying. Gene has a joke: ‘How can you tell if someone is a vegan? Just wait ten minutes and they’ll tell you.’ If this were so, it would not be so much of a problem. No! Vegetarians arrive for dinner and then say, ‘I don’t eat meat.’ This was the second time. The Pig’s Trotter Disaster happened six years ago, when Gene suggested that I invite a woman to dinner at my apartment. He argued that my cooking expertise would make me more desirable and I would not have to deal with the pressure of a restaurant environment. ‘And you can drink as much as you like and stagger to the bedroom.’

The woman’s name was Bethany, and her internet profile did not mention vegetarianism. Realising that the quality of the meal would be critical, I borrowed a recently published book of ‘nose to tail’ recipes from the library, and planned a multi-course meal featuring various parts of the animal: brains, tongue, mesentery, pancreas, kidneys, etc.

Bethany arrived on time and seemed very pleasant. We had a glass of wine, and then things went downhill. We started with fried pig’s trotter, which had been quite complex to prepare, and Bethany ate very little of hers.

‘I’m not big on pig’s trotters,’ she said. This was not entirely unreasonable: we all have preferences and perhaps she was concerned about fat and cholesterol. But when I outlined the courses to follow, she declared herself to be a vegetarian. Unbelievable!

She offered to buy dinner at a restaurant but, having spent so much time in preparation, I did not want to abandon the food. I ate alone and did not see Bethany again.

Now Rosie. In this case it might be a good thing. Rosie could leave and life would return to normal. She had obviously not filled in the questionnaire honestly, or Gene had made an error. Or possibly he had selected her for her high level of sexual attractiveness, imposing his own preferences on me.

Rosie came back inside, looking at me, as if expecting a response. ‘Seafood is okay,’ she said. ‘If it’s sustainable.’

I had mixed feelings. It is always satisfying to have the solution to a problem, but now Rosie would be staying for dinner. I walked to the bathroom, and Rosie followed. I picked up the lobster from the bath, where it had been crawling around.

‘Oh shit,’ said Rosie.

‘You don’t like lobster?’ I carried it back to the kitchen.

‘I love lobster but …’

The problem was now obvious and I could sympathise.

‘You find the killing process unpleasant. Agreed.’

I put the lobster in the freezer, and explained to Rosie that I had researched lobster-execution methods, and the freezer method was considered the most humane. I gave her a website reference.

While the lobster died, Rosie continued her sniffing around. She opened the pantry and seemed impressed with its level of organisation: one shelf for each day of the week, plus storage spaces for common resources, alcohol, breakfast, etc., and stock data on the back of the door.

‘You want to come and sort out my place?’

‘You want to implement the Standardised Meal System?’ Despite its substantial advantages, most people consider it odd.

‘Just cleaning out the refrigerator would do,’ she said. ‘I’m guessing you want Tuesday ingredients?’

I informed her that, as today was Tuesday, no guessing was required.

She handed me the nori sheets and bonito flakes. I requested macadamia nut oil, sea salt and the pepper grinder from the common resources area.

‘Chinese rice wine,’ I added. ‘Filed under alcohol.’

‘Naturally,’ said Rosie.

She passed me the wine, then began looking at the other bottles in the alcohol section. I purchase my wine in half-bottles.

‘So, you cook this same meal every Tuesday, right?’

‘Correct.’ I listed the eight major advantages of the Standardised Meal System.

No need to accumulate recipe books.

Standard shopping list – hence very efficient shopping.

Almost zero waste – nothing in the refrigerator or pantry unless required for one of the recipes.

Diet planned and nutritionally balanced in advance.

No time wasted wondering what to cook.

No mistakes, no unpleasant surprises.

Excellent food, superior to most restaurants at a much lower price (see point 3).

Minimal cognitive load required.



‘Cognitive load?’

‘The cooking procedures are in my cerebellum – virtually no conscious effort is required.’

‘Like riding a bike.’

‘Correct.’

‘You can make lobster whatever without thinking?’

‘Lobster, mango and avocado salad with wasabi-coated flying fish roe and crispy seaweed and deep-fried leek garnish. Correct. My current project is quail-boning. It still requires conscious effort.’

Rosie was laughing. It brought back memories of school days. Good ones.