A Revolution in Four Courses
by Naru Dames Sundar
Rathwan's in Kur district is a study in white on white, the floor tile and tables arranged in a tessellation of rectangles whose sides matched the holy ratio of seven to three. Rathwan's is empty today, save for one table, one lone guest--the Gedt general whose soldiers now pillage and loot the silk strewn arbors of the district.
Rathwan himself serves the dish to the general. The first course, serving to awaken memory, served on a square of carved bone. The conflict of square and rectangle is played out in the arrangement of paper-thin shavings of smoked river fen. The delicate pink flesh of the fish is accompanied by thin curls of plum rind, their astringency balancing the inherent sweetness of the fillet.
The general's arm is swift as a sword thrust, scattering the plate and the subtle shavings of fen into the air. One of them lands on Rathwan's lips, hanging open in surprise. The general gets up and leaves, a smirk on his lips. At the door, he turns his head slightly toward Rathwan.