The King Who Lived To Eat

Once upon a time there lived a king who lived to eat. He loved food better than he loved anything else. He feasted, he grazed, he devoured, he partook, and in between he nibbled, every waking minute of every day, and when he slept, he dreamed about eating.

Where food was concerned, this monarch was completely democratic. He celebrated all foods, without reservation, without exception. He enjoyed the staples of the peasants and the delicacies of the aristocracy. He delighted in all meals, breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, supper, midnight snacks, and coffee breaks. He read a menu in any language.

As might be expected, the most sublime of the King’s subjects were his kitchen courtiers and indeed they were a supreme court. The King engaged twelve chefs--the finest in all the world. These posts were highly coveted. To serve in the King’s pantry was the very highest honor any culinary expert could dream of. The cooks enjoyed an exorbitant salary. They lived in luxury quarters and worked in exceptional kitchens with access to any ingredient they might desire.

Now the King believed that people worked best when under the spirit of competition. Never more or less than twelve cooks were ever employed and should a cook’s work flounder, or should another be found to be more talented, the least skilled of the cooks would be let go. For decades the same twelve cooks remained in the kitchen. Finally, nature took its course and one of them passed on. His post had to be filled.

Thousands and thousands of young and old men and women sought the job. The King determined that the most logical way to make a choice would be to sample their food. He announced a great potluck supper to which all the cooks and bakers in his kingdom were invited. Each one would bring his specialty and from these samples, the King would find his newest recruit.

Now within the kingdom there lived a disreputable sorcerer. When he heard of this opportunity, his heart fluttered with malevolent inspiration.

“What a fortuitous event,” he reflected. The sorcerer believed that he would easily win the contest, and once on the King’s staff, he would be able to cook up some delicious diversions that would ultimately increase his wealth and power. There was much truth to the adage that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and when the stomach belonged to one as gluttonous as the king, there was ample opportunity to win over the heart.

The sorcerer considered the situation at length. He knew that to win the contest, he’d have to do better than the other contestants. After some thought he decided upon a confection that he was sure would win him the title, then set to work using only the finest supernatural ingredients in the preparation of the delectable dessert. With the blackest of magic, he created a pastry so perfect to look upon that it could have been painted or carved of wax. Then he flavored it using his most sophisticated incantations.

On the day of the event an enormous table was set up in the center of the great banquet hall. The smells of food were tantalizingly tempting and the King soon realized that the decision would be no easy task, though it was a task he relished. At last, the dinner bell rang and the competition commenced.

One by one, the aspiring chefs placed their dishes hopefully on the golden plates set between jewel-incrusted cutlery. The first dish was a buttered lobster tail, drizzled in caviar.

“Your Majesty,” said the shy young fellow. “A dish to make both your eyes and mouth water.”

The King took a bite. “Good,’ he said, his mouth full of glossy crustacean, but he nevertheless moved onto the next plate. The rejected chef backed away, bowing dejectedly.

A sizzling platter of sausages decorated with colorful peppers was next. “A treat for you, Your Majesty,” said the woman who prepared them. “Courtesy of my favorite pig.”

The King bit into the juicy meat. “Very tasty,” he said, wiping his mouth on a silk napkin. “Uh…next.”

Hours passed and the King’s palate was stimulated to new heights. He ate as he never had before, sampling all types of meats prepared all types of ways; sopping up gravies with the warm rich breads; savoring every leaf of lettuce, every spoon of pudding.

The King was half-way down the table when he reached an odd-looking muffin, large and lumpy. “Your Majesty,” said a gentleman in a purple robe with waxed moustaches. “These fools have taken up your time with their mediocrity. Come, try something fit for royalty.” An oily smile in place, he held out the golden plate on which sat his offering.

The King nibbled at the muffin top. “Mmmm,” he pronounced, and gobbled the remains. “Next!” he called.

The robed man’s voice grew irate. “What do you mean, ‘next’? That muffin, Your Majesty, is a marvel of gastronomic design. Why, it’s extraordinary. The baker of that muffin must surely be your choice as chef.”

The King was quite taken aback. “The muffin isn’t bad,” he conceded. “I’ll even say that it’s quite satisfying, but extraordinary, ah, no.”

“AND WHY NOT?” shrieked the man who was of course, the sorcerer.

“Quite frankly,” replied the King, “It has a slight under taste that I can’t quite identify. Whatever. It simply isn’t that special.” He pronounced his judgment and approached a stuffed crab.

The sorcerer pushed the King’s hand out of the way.“Your Majesty, you know nothing about food!”

“And you sir, are being impertinent. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave now before I have you removed from the premises.”

The sorcerer spoke in a barely controlled tone. “You have no taste--no taste whatsoever. It is apparent to me that you wouldn’t know a delectable treat from a block of wood. And from now on, that is all any food shall taste to you―like wood!”

The sorcerer waved his hands and uttered some incomprehensible words. The King felt a curious numbness in his mouth, and a medicinal taste on his tongue. He reached for the crab to cleanse his palate. To his horror, he tasted nothing. He felt the food in his mouth but he might as well have been chewing a piece of wood. In a frenzy he grabbed a fried shrimp, then some bleu cheese, then some jalapeno peppers. Nothing!!!

“Cease that felon!” the King cried. The sorcerer made for the exit, the King’s men trailing after him. The King was frantic. They had to find that evil magician and bring him back. He had to remove that dreadful spell.

For the next two days, the King ate nothing; he sat by the entrance to the castle, waiting for word from his men. At last they returned.

“Your Majesty,” the leader reported. “We have tracked the scoundrel.”

“Where is he?” the King demanded.

“Well, he gave us a fast chase, but we never let up on him. The man was set on not being caught. He rode his horse over a cliff when we were in pursuit. But you don’t have to worry. He won’t trouble you again, and he has paid for his disrespect with his life.”

“What?” The King’s face paled. “You say he’s dead?”

“Quite dead, Your Majesty.”

The King shook his head and went to his chambers. “Now the spell will never be broken. My life is as good as over, too.”

Word quickly got out of the King’s misfortune. His court of cooks did not know what to do. They feared for their livelihoods. For you see, everything they cooked received the same reaction. The King refused their dishes entirely. Filet Mignon with stuffed mushrooms. “Wood,” he declared. Red snapper with scalloped potatoes. “Wood.” He pushed the plate away.

The King barely touched any food. His subjects began to worry he’d lose his strength. Indeed, the entire kingdom was in a stew, so to speak.

“If all that I eat tastes of wood--then, I might as well just eat wood,” the King said miserably. “Bring me plain vegetables.”

The King would chew a couple of carrots and eat half a cup of rice and then retire. He seldom spoke and had not smiled since that fateful day so many months ago.

One day, one of the cooks, desperate to tempt His Majesty brought some hot chocolate and scones to the royal chamber, where he found the King ruminating that maybe life wasn’t worth living without any pleasures.

“Your Majesty!” exclaimed the man. “You must eat. You are wasting away. Look! Your clothes are falling off of you.”

“Then get me some new clothes,” said the King dejectedly.

The cook relayed this message to his brethren and shortly after, the cooks assembled before the King presenting him with patterns and sketches of the most fashionable clothing. They modeled the latest sporting attire, casual and formal wear, swimming garb, hats, cloaks, and just about every garment, new or vintage, in all fabrics.

While the former cooks, now tailors, turned their efforts toward sewing, the King went into town for the first time in too many years to recall. He had never imagined that walking through a park could be such a thrill or seeing a play in an actual theater such a treat. In the coming year, the King discovered his kingdom. His travels so consumed him that he didn’t pine for food very much. He simply ate to keep up his energy so that he could go dancing or ride his horses.

One afternoon as he was exploring a small village on the outskirts of the kingdom, the King came upon a little bake shop. Normally he avoided such reminders of the curse put upon him, but so adorable was the quaint little place he couldn't resist a peek. As he gazed forlornly into the window, he noticed the young woman waiting on customers behind a glass counter filled with pastries. This woman was neither wealthy nor sophisticated, but the kindness in her soft face attracted him.

He waited shyly for her to emerge from the shop, wondering what he might say to her. The young woman smiled at him and a fledgling friendship began. The woman, who was a baker, worked in the family business to care for her ailing mother and younger brother. The King grew to love her very much for she was truly an angel. He knew he had to marry her if only she would have him. The woman said that she would.

The King begged her to allow an intimate wedding. The thought of a huge reception with elaborate food and drink was incredibly depressing. He hated to be reminded of all those goodies that no longer had any taste. Understanding, she readily agreed, and they planned to be married in her house.

When the judge pronounced them King and Queen, the King was so happy he cried. His new bride kissed her husband and then took up a knife to cut the wedding cake she had baked herself. She placed her hand on his so that they might cut the cake together. As the knife sliced into the gossamer icing the King felt a rush of sorrow. He especially hated having wonderful foods like cake in his mouth, to feel their spongy texture and be tortured by the absence of flavor, but he wouldn’t hurt his bride for the world, and if she had baked it, then he would eat it. Resigned, he opened his mouth to receive the forkful she offered him. But it was not wood that he tasted, but the very sweetest of sugars.