Do Aliens Eat Steak?

“This is Rachel Robinette here at the White House where what I can only describe, Curtis, is a Flying Saucer that has landed on the south lawn? You can see there on the other side of the fencing that some sort of ramp has come down from the saucer and the doors to the White House have opened as well.”

“Incredible Rachel, have you seen anything come out of the saucer yet? Any idea what the aliens look like?”

“Not yet Curtis. No aliens have poked their heads out, but I’m sure that any moment now we will see our first signs of non-earth-based life here. As we’ve seen in movies and television shows though, this is a groundbreaking new way of establishing contact. Usually it’s all lasers and blowing up the White House, not this time though, unfortunately.”

“Rachel, any idea what the White House and the Aliens will be talking about?”

“We haven’t heard anything from the White House about this, Curtis. The only reason we have footage of this is because our news office is a stone’s throw away from the White House and our coffee guy said we should look outside.”

“Amazing. The first real look at life from another planet.”

“Wait… Curtis, the President is walking out seemingly to greet whatever creature appears from the saucer.- Pete, zoom in! ZOOM IN! - We can see now that the President is waiting at the end of the ramp and kind of looks bored. He’s just flapping his hands around as if this is some sort of inconvenience for him.”

“I wonder if there have been prior talks with these beings before this.”

“CURTIS, THE ALIENS LOOK LIKE SEA URCHINS BUT WITHOUT SHARP SPINES. More like little feet that they roll on.”

“Marvelous. You’ve seen it first here on MNM news, your daily source of trustworthy clickbait.”

“Shut up, Curtis! The President is holding out his hand to the aliens and seems to be struggling with trying to find a hand to shake? He’s just kind of staring at the random amalgamations of feet that the aliens have and trying to see if he can or should shake one.”

“Wow. Really impressive stuff there Rachel.”

“I mean, we all knew he was an idiot before this.”

“Well, let’s be neutral here, Rachel.”

“Curtis, he clearly knew that an alien was going to land on the south lawn. The military has not scrambled. There are no jets or tanks or soldiers surrounding the saucer. This isn’t like The Day The Earth Stood Still. I can’t confirm this, but the White House clearly was expecting this.”

SLAP

“OH! HE DID IT! The President attempted to grab one of the alien’s leg slash feet things and got slapped right across the face. We don’t know if it was a reaction, how they greet others, or if this might start an interplanetary conflict but DAMN did that feel good to watch.”

“Rachel, we’re hearing that the White House has set a time for a press briefing and dinner with the aliens for 6pm tonight. Have you heard anything else?”

“Stop asking Curtis! Like I said earlier, we have yet to hear any actual news from the press secretary, but if there is a press briefing or time to meet with the aliens one-on-one, you know I will be there. All we know is that the President has fumbled what he thinks was a handshake and got put in his place for it. Back to you.”

“If these are our new overlords. Thank you, and please do not make me your sex slave.”

…

The TV in the kitchen turns off leaving a blacked-out screen.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Who woulda thought.”

Two burly, neanderthal looking men lean against the stainless-steel counter tops gobstruck.

“I mean we knew we weren’t alone out here.” Enzo says, arms crossed in his sparkling chef's whites.

“Always.” Rocco, the line cook, shrugging his shoulders with an inquisitive frown.

“But who woulda thought they’d show up here? Now? Like this?”

“Not me.”

“Not We!” Rocco slapping the back of his meaty hands against his friend's arms.

“Heyyyyyy!” They chant.

“ENZO. ROCCO. Where’s dinner service prep?” Alison pops in asking.

“What do you mean dinner service prep? We just sent everyone home!” Rocco attacks New-Jers-ily.

“Eagle is staying here for dinner now that all this shit has happened.” Alison may be new around here, but she can back talk Jersey like the best of them.

Rocco panics. “WOAH! Two minutes ago he was flying to Flahrida. Now some aliens land and he expects us to just have a fine dining experience up our asses ready to shit out onto a plate?!”

“It’s ok. I’m sure we got something in this massive fridge here.”

“Enzo, buddy, we’ve had this job for three days. Let’s lay down some ground rules with thems upstairs. They don’t get to choose, we serve what we want to serve especially if it’s last minute.”

Shaking his head agreeing with him, Enzo trudges towards the walk-in his mouth agape.

“I got no idea Roc. We always made do with what we had back at the shop. We can do that here.”

“Get outta here with that nonsense! Spur of the moment menus and shit.”

Enzo stops in his tracks realizing something. He slowly pivots back around.

“Hey Allie.”

“Yeah, Enzo.”

“Are we expected to feed the Aliens?”

“Yeah, I would assume so. Why what’s wrong with that?”

Enzo’s face drops

“Wha-What do they eat?”

“Whaddya mean?” Allie shoots back.

“HA!” Rocco squawks from across the kitchen.

“What do the Aliens eat, Allie?”

“How would I know?! I ain’t one of them stressball shaped freaks.” Allie snaps.

Enzo rushes over to Allie. “No, no, Allie. If we don’t know what they can or can’t eat, we can’t feed them.”

“So? Just make whatever you wanna make and they can say yes or no.”

“Allie, I’m telling you right here and now, that if I serve them Chicken Piccata and they’re deathly allergic to capers or or or lemon, what happens then? Do they explode and take the President with them? Do they start oozing a poisonous gas? Does that lead to Intergalactic war? I can’t have that on my conscience. I can’t start a war with my Lemon Chicken, my Chicken Piccata.”

“Calmaté chef. This isn’t that big of a deal. I don’t think this is the first time the President has talked with Aliens.”

“What?! I can’t. Roc, am I wrong here?”

“No, you're not wrong boss.”

“Thank you!”

“But I don’t give a shit about some stupid aliens. They came here, they’re getting what I wanna serve ‘em.” Rocco says as he traipses off to the walk-in.

“No. Roc, that’s not right. Allie, just do me a favor, ask them if they have any dietary restrictions. Ya know, like allergies and shit.”

“That’s the most Manhattan thing you have ever said. Some woke shit.”

“Allie, please. I’ll give you free breakfast for the rest of the year. Just ask your boss.”

Allie rolls her eyes and looks at Rocco, who shrugs at her. “My boss is going to say that’s some woke shit.”

“Hey, Allie! Tell your boss she gives me the hots!” Rocco calls back.

“Ew!”

“Allie, It’s this little embarrassment or the Earth gets toasted by space sea urchins.”

“God! If I get yelled at or fired for this, you owe me more than just breakfast!” She screams back at the kitchen as she trundles off to the Oval office.

“Hey, Enz. I got good news and bad news.”

“Ah shit. What’s the bad news?”

“Bad news is we only got enough to feed 10 people.”

“That ain’t good. When has there ever only been 10 people in there.”

“Good news is we got 10 steaks!” Rocco grins holding up a freezer burnt tomahawk steak.

…

“Allie, what the fuck are you doing here?! I told you to light a fire under the asses of those numbskull’s in the kitchen.” Carolina Levowitz quietly chastises Allie as she snakes her way through the hallway past the press. The blonde is barely five-years older than the college intern and guards the Oval, scorning all the journalists trying to sneak a peak past her at the Aliens.

“I did Carolina! They sent me back up here with questions.” she whispers back, as to not get too much attention from the press.

“IT IS MADAME PRESS SECRETARY TO YOU, MISS!” she whisper-yells.

“I’m sorry, Madame Press Secretary!”

“God protect us… What do those tin pot idiots want now?!”

“They want to know how many people are staying for dinner and ifthealienshaveanydietaryrestrictions.” she speeds into her ear.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” claws already prepared to dig into whatever Allie said next.

“How many people are staying?”

“I heard that part.”

“And do the Aliens… haveanydietaryrestrictions?”

“I swear to the almighty, I will smite you myself if you don’t make yourself clear.”

“DO THE ALIENS HAVE ANY DIETARY RESTRICTIONS?” Allie shouts. Carolina’s nostrils flare.

“How dare you say something so woke.”

The once cowering press corp leap at this opportunity for an unsanctioned briefing. Cameras and microphones are shoved into Carolina’s face as they start shouting their questions like: What do you mean dietary restrictions? Are these Aliens the same who have made crop circles in the past? What are the Aliens here to discuss, trade? Does the President plan on putting tariffs on the Aliens? And how great do the Aliens think the President is?

“SHUT UP PIGGIES!” Carolina screams. “YOU!” pointing a claw at Allie. “YOU TELL THOSE HALFWIT CHEFS TO GET DINNER READY IN 20 MINUTES OR YOU’RE FIRED. I DON’T GIVE TWO SHITS WHAT THEY MAKE. AS FOR THE REST OF YOU…”

The press cower again.

…

SLAP and SIZZLE. Enzo drops the last steak on the griddle. A Beep-beep-beep from behind the busy chef.

“Ovens are at temp!” Rocco says as he flips the first steak and dollops a scoop of butter on top of the hunk of meat.

“Where’s the fingerlings?”

“Pre-heating in the oven.”

“Great. Ten minutes more on those, pull ‘em out, and we’ll drop the steaks in.”

“Yes, chef.”

“I’ll butter the steaks if you can prep garlic butter for both the potatoes and the spinach.”

“Deal.”

“This feels good Rocco!”

“Just like how it used to be at the shop! Just us two ja-mokes buttering up the boys on top!”

“We don’t need no fancy five star kitchen staff!”

The two laugh. Enzo lathering butter a spoonful at a time.

Allie erupts into the kitchen, “Well, you guys and I are all fired if dinner’s not plated and in front of Eagle in the next 20 minutes.”

“Wait, what?!” Both cooks turn to her grasping at straws.

“Can people not hear me today?”

“We heard you all right…” Enzo drops the buttering spoon on the griddle.

“Fuck this then. How many microwaves do we have?”

“Four or five? How should I know, I’m not your intern.”

“Great. Rocco, fire the spinach. Just blast it with butter and garlic and don’t forget to salt. Same with the fingerlings. You know Eagle has no tastebuds.”

“You got it boss. I’ll be ready to plate in ten.”

“Allie, you’re coming with me. We’re zapping some fucking steaks because who needs dinner at the White House to be gourmet!”

…

“GET OUTTA THE WAY FUCK WAD!” Enzo shouts down the hallway as both he and Enzo push a cart with 10 plates towards the President’s dining room.

“DON’T CALL ME FUCK WAD, FUCK WAD.” screams Carolina.

“This fuck wad is your fucking savior!” Rocco hypes Enzo up.

“There better be an ambassador level dinner on that cart or I’m going to start an interplanetary conflict with my fist in your face.”

“Gentle, Carolina! I know this is just the beginning of our relationship, but we can take it slow.” Rocco bobs his eyebrows at her as they plow past her with the cart. Carolina does not like this.

BLAM! The cart crashes through the swinging double doors into the Presidents’ Dining Room. The room is silent and eight heads turn to look at the disheveled cooks standing in the doorway. The two aliens don’t move.

Enzo cautiously laughs to break the silence. “Sorry for the delays on your dinners.” No laughs or smiles back at him. Enzo elbows Rocco to start serving. He grabs the plates and goes to serve the aliens. Enzo grabs a few plates and goes to serve the president first, his wrinkled orange face pouting because dinner is late.

“Tonight we have prepared steaks with fingerling potatoes and hot spinach.” Enzo says as he places a plate in front of the President. “We know you like your steak well done sir.” Enzo shutters a little inside when he says that. He reveals the steak in front of him to be a brownish-gray mass with no grill marks and a bone.

“Did you bring the ketchup?” The President sulks at Enzo.

From his back pocket, Enzo pulls a plastic bottle of Hurtz brand ketchup and places it in front of him. The President gives an impish smile and claps like a toddler.

On the other side of the table, Rocco is having trouble reaching around the aliens to place their plates. He attempts to reach around but is afraid to touch one of the flimsy spines on their bodies. Looking to his left he sees War Secretary David Wedgetheft, a former newscaster who thinks anything can be solved with missiles.

“Psst.”

“What?”

“Can- Can you help me.”

“With what you idiot?”

“I can’t reach.”

“Just put the stupid plate down. They won’t bite.”

“They won’t?”

Wedgetheft grunts. With guilted courage, Rocco pushes past the alien's tentacles and drops the plates. He gives a sigh of relief and starts to recoil, before SLAP SLAPSLAP SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP, the tentacles whack at him knocking him in all directions and then backwards on his butt.

“HA! That was a good one, Torp. Really got him good!” cries Wedgetheft.

A slurping laughter comes from the leftmost alien. The table joins them in laughing heartily at Rocco’s expense as he pulls himself together.

“Bon appétit.” Enzo nervously smiles from the head of the table.

“Thank you, chef. Yes, bone apple teeth.” the President gums.

Everyone at the table stares as the aliens seemingly lean into the plate before them. The crowd leans in with them, waiting to see how they react. From within the tangle of tentacles opens a crevice, and the sound of two huge SNIFF SNIFFS.

The table stares to see how the aliens proceed having presumably smelled the steak. The urchin-like creatures lean back, opening the same crevices and SLAMMING them down onto the plate shaking the table and shuddering glassware. The alien slurps at the plate sucking down the hunk of meat and sides.

An eruption of laughter around the table comes as the very important people start to dig in as well, now that their guests are tucking in.

Enzo is left speechless standing at the head of the table, jaw on the floor.

“You can leave now.” Carolina whispers in his ear.

“Yep! Bon appétit. Ahhhhh, yes.” Enzo heaves as he awkwardly backs out of the room. Rocco grabs the cart and exits within him and the door closes behind them both.

Enzo, staring in disbelief that he just served the worst steak he’s ever prepared to an intergalactic being, breathes his first real sigh of relief.

“We did it boss!” Rocco cheers. “I took a beating, but I think I’m ok!”

“Yeah, are you ok?” Enzo says, snapping back to reality.

“I dunno, but I’m the second person to ever get slapped by an alien! That’s freakin’ rad!”

The two shake each other in celebration.

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! From the other side of the door, a blood curdling scream from another world. Then, SLAP. SLAPSLAP. SLAPSLAPSLAP. SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP.

“Oh no…”

...

“Good morning everyone.” A beaten Carolina Levowitz takes the podium in the Press Briefing room, a brace around her neck . “Last night, America saw its first sign of alien life when the Echinoideans landed their space vehicle on the south lawn as we began peace talks with their society. After grueling negotiations with the President, they promised to pay 145% tariffs on any products consumed by the American people as long as we can provide them with as much steak, ketchup, and butter as their ships can carry.

“We have much to learn from them and their culture. After dinner, the Echinoideans partook in some roughhousing that the President and I were not aware would happen. The President is fine and everyone who attended the dinner is recovering, just a little shaken. Doctors from Walter Reed have told us that the aliens are now addicted to butter which might have had an effect on what happened last night, but we may never know. That’s all for now. I need some painkillers and to take a nap.”

“You heard it here first Curtis. Aliens kicked the President's butt because they love butter. No other word from the White House besides what we just broadcast. Got it?! So don’t ask!”

“Staggering, Rachel. Really makes you think about buying a dairy farm and becoming an intergalactic drug dealer.”