You are What You Eat

“Chef Francis, dear, how are the oysters today, and did we obtain enough lobster for tonight?”

“Yes, Ms Ashcombe. Alice bought the oysters from the seafood market this morning, and they smell as fresh as the ocean breeze. Plenty of lobster too. We are well prepped for our dinner tonight, Ma'am.”

Ms Meredith Ashcombe, tenth-generation descendant of the original Maine shipping dynasty, peered around the bustling kitchen with satisfaction. Francis, her executive private chef, was the best money could buy and deserved her hefty paycheque. She ruled her domain with hyper-efficiency and a perfectionist’s eye as sharp as her favourite knives.

“Did you incorporate the special ingredients I sent you?”

“Of course, Ma’am, I think it will add much to this meal.”

Meredith smiled, “As usual, I know you have things well in hand. Thank you for all your hard work.”

“Always a pleasure, Ma’am.”

With a slight bow, Chef Francis turned and barked an order to one of her frazzled sous-chefs.

Meredith took one final look around the space, admiring the gleaming metals, polished wood and bright, colourful produce. A potpourri of aromas wafted her way, and a medley of chopping, whirring, hissing and muted clangs enveloped her. The organised chaos whirled around her in perfect culinary choreography.

Satisfied, Meredith left to prepare herself—or perhaps brace herself—for tonight’s family meal.

Several hours later, Meredith was sitting in the rose drawing room sipping her Lustau when the distant chime announced the arrival of her first guest. Which of the sycophants would be rushing to be first, hoping to ingratiate themselves in her favour before the rest of the competition arrived?

“Mr Edward Ashcombe, my lady.”

Standing in the doorway, next to Gertrude, her head housekeeper, was Edward—Eddie—her third child and second son. His familiar unctuous smile was already plastered on. He surged towards her, grasped her hands in his slightly sweaty ones and exclaimed in a voice one reserves for the profoundly hard of hearing, “Mother! What a delight, you are looking positively radiant.”

After the obligatory air kisses, Meredith replied dryly, “Edward, I am eighty-eight. My skin is as elastic as old underwear, and I have enough age spots to look permanently tanned. I suggest you have your eyesight checked.”

Never one to let reality interfere with his schmoozing, Eddie simply ramped up his attempts to charm her.

“Oh, Mother, always so witty. You could grace the cover of Vogue again if they ever published a mature women’s edition. Ooh! Is that caviar?”

Without another glance at her, Eddie slunk across the room to the sideboard laden with hors d'oeuvres and glasses of vintage Champagne. If Meredith hadn’t had proper decorum ingrained in her, she would have rolled her eyes. A bran muffin had more moral fibre than Eddie.

The chime sounded again.

“Ms Patricia Ashcombe-Cunningham, Mr Jacob Cunningham and Master Jack, Ma’am.”

Her first daughter entered with her husband and son in tow.

Patricia leaned in and placed a dry kiss on Meredith’s cheek. The overwhelming cloy of her perfume made Meredith’s breath seize for a moment.

“Mother, how are you?” Patricia’s steel-grey eyes were recording every detail, noting any potential signs of frailty or weakness with an unbecoming amount of hope.

“You look peaked. Is Chef Francis not feeding you well? You sounded a bit congested when you called.”

Leaning away to find some breathable air, Meredith chopped out, “You should talk to your brother; he’s got a much more optimistic outlook on my future. Perhaps you two should compare notes and reach a mutual agreement. Let me know how much time I have left.”

Patricia’s irritation flashed briefly before disappearing behind a patronising smile.

“Mother, really! You don’t have to be so prickly; you know I only have your best interest at heart. Eddie doesn’t have an altruistic bone in his body. He would tell a corpse it looked well rested.”

“Flattering as always, dear.”

“But that’s not what I—”

Meredith cut in, “Chef Francis has made your favourite fresh oysters with champagne mignonette; go help yourself before Augustus shows up.”

With an annoyed huff, Patricia turned and stomped off, snapping out, “Jacob, Jack, come!”

Jacob muttered a hurried “Nice to see you, Meredith” before he scrambled after Patricia.

Jack grinned at her, “Hey, Granny Merry, don’t worry, I don’t think you look a day over ninety-nine.” He let out a braying laugh and sauntered away towards the food. He knew she hated the name, Granny Merry.

In quick succession, the others arrived. Her eldest son, Augustus, with his wife Marilyn and daughters Judy and Adele. Meredith’s daughter, Alfrieda, and her spouse, Biff (yes, someone actually named their child Biff. On purpose.) Finally, and late as always, Lex, her youngest, and his partner Reynard.

After offering her a perfunctory greeting, everyone quickly converged on the food. The beautiful presentation and harmoniously nuanced flavours were blithely overlooked as the black truffle gougères were popped into their mouths like cheese balls. The mini lobster rolls were slung back like sliders at White Castle, and the Champagne disappeared as if it were all-you-can-drink happy hour.

Her maid, Ruby, elbowed her way through the crowd and emerged carrying a delicate china plate.

“I thought you might like to try some of Chef Francis’ tasty creations, Ma’am.”

“You are far too kind, Ruby”

“I couldn’t have you trying to get into that mess. You could have been trampled by that hungry horde.”

Meredith chuckled.

“Thank you for thinking of me. Would you tell Chef Francis that everyone is here? We should be ready to dine in about twenty minutes.”

“Of course, is there anything else?”

“No, thank you. I have this food to sample, and my sherry decanter is close at hand. I have a feeling I’ll need a second glass soon.” Meredith gave her maid a cheeky wink that no one else could see.

Ruby gave Meredith a conspiratorial smile, then left.

Meredith turned her attention to her progeny and their families. They were expertly ignoring one another, except for the odd volley of snide comments across the room. She sighed. Where had she and her dear late husband, Albert, gone so wrong?

They had dreamed of raising capable, compassionate children. Albert had been gentle, generous and wise, and she'd like to think she hadn't been a terrible mother herself.

Their wealth had bought every opportunity—and every indulgence. And therein lies the rub, she thought to herself, feeling like a leper in her own sitting room.

Something not earned through one’s own efforts becomes nothing. Her children had grown into spoiled brats. Albert had been gone for five years, and Meredith was staring Death right in the eyes these days. It was so sad that this was her legacy—a pack of ungrateful, whiny children and grandchildren.

She knew they were all waiting for The Big Day. She was ready for that as well, to be honest. She was weary, and aches and pains were her boon companions through the long, lonely days she spent in this giant mausoleum of a home. Before she went to the great beyond, whatever that might entail, she had one last thing to do, and now the stage was set. Raise the curtains.

Everyone was seated around the formal dining table. Meredith admired the room with appreciation. It was opulent yet gave a sense of cozy intimacy. Rich burgundy walls, dark mahogany floors and sparkling crystal reflected the warm chandelier light. Every place setting gleamed with polished silver and fine china.

The beauty and fine craftsmanship in this space were wasted on the people sitting before her.

She tapped her fork lightly against her wine glass. Nothing. She tapped harder. Still nothing. Finally, she resorted to a rapid flurry of ting-ting-ting until quiet descended.

“Now that I have your attention, I’d like to propose a toast.”

Everyone dutifully raised their glasses.

“To my family. You always manage to surprise me and leave me in awe of who you have become. You have shown me that success isn’t everything, that hard work and dedication do not have to define who you are. It takes real tenacity to move through life, not listening to what others say and simply doing things the way you want. To bravely defy those who question your actions and forge ahead, no matter what. I hope and pray you will all get what you so richly deserve. You are an interesting group of people, and I must confess I am at a loss to truly express how I feel about each and every one of you. Cheers!”

Meredith sipped her wine. The others guzzled more enthusiastically.

The staff paraded in, depositing bowls of white truffle velouté before each person. Meredith scooped up a mouthful of the silken delight, quietly listening to the conversations around her.

Biff’s voice overrode the quiet clink of dishes and murmured voices.

“Augustus, how is that eco-friendly detergent business doing?”

“Fantastic,” Augustus replied proudly. “I moved manufacturing overseas. Dirt-cheap labour. Hardly any environmental regulations. Shut down this plant, and have already tripled production. The environmentalists are furious, but I own it now. More profit for me.”

“Good for you. You ever go over there on ‘business trips’?” Biff actually used air quotes around business trips. “I hear they’ve got ladies that give really good massages.” He shot his brother-in-law a lecherous wink before raising his glass. He chugged the Cabernet so quickly it spilt out and trickled down his chin, then into the mat of chest hair showing in the wide-open vee of his shirt. He slammed the glass down and let out a raucous belch.

“Oops, pardon moi French.” His words were already becoming slurred.

“Daddy is the smartest man,” Adele declared smugly. “He makes lots of money.”

“What do you do for work, Adele?” asked her Aunt Marilyn.

“Oh, I don’t have to work; Daddy buys me whatever I want.”

“She smokes weed,” Judy hissed quietly from the seat next to Meredith. “And she had three different boys in her room this month! She’s such a ho. She gets it from Mom. Whenever Dad’s away, Mom gets the pool cleaned…a lot.”

Meredith remained expressionless.

“Why would you want to say such things, Judy?”

“Cause they’re true. And ‘cause I hate them all.”

Patricia spoke up.

“Auggie, send me the investment details. Anyone else have good opportunities?”

No one replied.

The staff cleared the soup bowls and replaced them with foie gras on brioche with caramelised orchard pears.

“Alfrieda, how have you been?” inquired Marilyn, not even looking at the woman, instead preening at her reflection on the silver ewer. It wasn’t necessary; she was flawless as usual.

Alfrieda glanced at Biff quickly, but his mouth was stuffed, so he just nodded his permission.

“Very well, thank you. And you?”

“Oh, you know. Personal trainer, daily massage, hair appointments, nails, shopping with my BFFs, tennis lessons...and charity work.”

“She doesn’t do charity work; they just have meetings so they can drink mimosas all day,” Judy whisper-squealed in Meredith’s ear.

The main course was brought in. Meredith eyed it appreciatively. Butter-poached lobster paired with Wagyu tenderloin accompanied by truffle pommes puree, asparagus with hollandaise, roasted baby carrots and blistered Matsutake mushrooms. The delicious medley of aromas wafted to her, reminding her of a holiday she and Albert had taken to Japan for their thirtieth wedding anniversary. They’d had such a wonderful time.

She had married Albert for love, not money, but she had always appreciated one luxury above all others: extraordinary food. Food nourished the body and enriched the senses. At its best, it brought people together.

Present company excluded.

She was brought back to the present when Reynard spoke. Typically, he was quiet, but when he did speak, it was usually to stir up some shit. He did not disappoint.

“Marilyn, who was that fine-looking gentleman I saw you with the other day. He looked positively nummy.”

Marilyn sucked in a breath, which lodged a piece of lobster in her throat that she then hacked up like a fur ball. Gasping, she grabbed her wine glass and took a slug.

“Whatever do you mean, Reynard? I wasn’t with anyone.”

Reynard lifted one skeptical eyebrow.

“Oh really,” he drawled. “My bad, it must have been someone else who drives a cherry red Lambo and looks just like you. Why would you have been at the Hilton anyway?”

Lex piped up from where he was lolling in his chair like he was some Roman ruler at a banquet, “Come now, Rey-rey dear, let’s not get Marilyn all upset. You know how she gets all splotchy when she’s upset.”

“I do not get splotchy,” Marilyn screeched. Her face immediately became splotchy. "You are good for nothing!"

“Tut, tut, dear sis, if I had the energy to summon enough give-a-damn, I might be offended.”

“Go piss up a rope.”

Meredith decided to end this farce.

“Children, enough!” she said sternly. “We will not devolve into slander and slurs. Before we discuss the reason for tonight’s gathering, Chef Francis has prepared a special dessert. Each of you will receive your personal favourite. Once we’re done, I will be sharing something with you that will dramatically affect all your lives.”

She held everyone’s rapt attention. Now they were noticing her. Now they cared. But it had only to do with the money symbols she saw in their eyes, nothing more.

She jangled the small silver bell beside her plate.

Servers entered bearing trays laden with desserts.

Vanilla bean crème brûlée for Eddie.

Chocolate soufflé with gold-dusted vanilla ice cream for Adele.

Raspberry macarons for Alfrieda.

Lemon tartlets for Patricia.

Pistachio opera cake for Marilyn.

Chocolate truffles for Augustus.

Salted caramel mille-feuille for Jacob.

Passion fruit and yuzu panna cotta for Reynard.

Chocolate lava cake with molten ganache for Jack.

Spiced molasses and Bourbon pot de crème for Lex.

Burnt Basque cheesecake for Biff.

Ladurée Ispahan for Judy.

Meredith contented herself with a bowl of fresh berries drizzled in crème fraîche.

“Please enjoy,” urged Meredith. Each descended upon their specific culinary weakness. She watched with a look of melancholy on her face, but also one of determination, as she slowly picked away at her bowl of fruit.

Within moments, sighs of satisfaction issued forth.

“Couldn’t eat another bite if I tried.”

“Compliments to the chef.”

“So what’s the big news, Granny Merry?” Jack asked with a cocky grin.

Meredith rose.

“I know many of you were hoping you’d find out how much your bank balance will increase upon my death. Having watched you grow into adulthood, I have been woefully disappointed at the results. I accept some of the blame for this, as I raised several of you. But greed, vanity, laziness, deceit, gluttony, and all the other character flaws you live by were choices. You will not be rewarded for these choices. I have decided I will divide my estate between my loyal staff and several worthy charities instead."

The expected chaos erupted around her. She had thought she was prepared, but it still hurt to hear the curses and angry, ugly accusations hurled her way. She waited. When everyone seemed to be running out of steam and stood there glaring at her, she continued.

“However, I have decided on a way that I can not only rectify my mistakes, but also ensure you are all cared for appropriately until you die.”

The angry expressions turned to puzzlement.

"I have one final secret. A very big secret.” She paused for dramatic effect.

“I am a witch.”

There were several huffs of laughter and disbelieving guffaws.

“Well, the old bat has really drifted off the edge this time.” She heard Biff whisper to Jacob, who snickered in return.

“I am a descendant of a long line of witches that settled in Maine. As you will soon experience, I have quite the knack for magic. Each dessert was specifically designed to reflect the character flaw that defines you.”

Everyone was starting to look a bit nervous, casting sidelong glances around the table. They had every right to be scared.

“Now, I don’t really need to say an incantation, but I’ve always wanted to say it. Abracadabra!”

The air shimmered and rippled through the room like a desert mirage.

Then—

Crack!

Twelve sharp bursts echoed through the room, followed by clouds of thick white smoke.

As the smoke cleared, things looked different. Very, very different.

In Augustus’ seat now perched a grunting, rotund, pink pig.

Marilyn had transformed into a magnificent peacock. Naturally, a peahen would never have suited her vanity.

A bald-headed vulture squawked from Patricia’s place.

She pecked towards her husband Jacob, who rapidly slithered out of range in his new snake body.

Jack, a furry ass, brayed loudly.

The noise startled a yip from Reynard, a beautiful, sly red fox.

Judy’s beady little rat eyes glittered, and her whiskers twitched.

Across the table, Biff had become a tusked, wild boar, suiting his boorish life.

He grunted, making Alfrieda, who was already nervous, flap her white wings and cluck in alarm.

Meredith picked up her granddaughter Adele, the leech, and dropped her into a glass of water.

“No point letting you asphyxiate,” Meredith said, “I’m not quite that mean.

Near the centerpiece, Eddie poked out a narrow mustelid face before wriggling across the table in the sleek body of a weasel.

Jack brayed again.

Eddie jumped.

Pop goes the weasel, Meredith thought with quiet satisfaction.

Lex hadn’t moved in all the havoc. He looked just as relaxed, except now he was a sloth.

Chef Francis, Ruby and several other staff entered the room and looked around in appreciation.

“Looks like everything turned out according to plan,” said Chef Francis.

“Perfectly,” confirmed Meredith with a smile. “Now we simply need to place them in the enclosures we have prepared. They will be well tended, not wanting for anything until the day they die.

“Speaking of which, Chef Francis, will we be having chicken or pork tomorrow evening?”