Page 71 - Three Adventures

The Nazarene Foreskin

“Yes, I know, Olaf, the Tour Gastronomique gala. We will not
disturb your guests.”
The man bowed and stood aside. Hans led his small party through
the dining room, weaving between tables occupied by large parties,
groups of eight and twelve diners. All tucking with gusto into the
remnants of a traditional Lebanese selection of appetizers, they paid
no more attention to the intruders than to the waiters already clearing
plates for the next course. Hans dodged a man bearing a large silver
platter of grilled and ground ungulate organs and pushed through the
double doors into the kitchen. Sir Aldershot and Mauve, temporarily
delayed by the sommelier’s cart, rushed in behind him, stiff-arming
the portals. They swung back in unison, nearly nipping Scoop’s
nose—which had paused to poke into the wine selection going past.
The reporter recovered and pushed cautiously into the kitchen as
Hans Messer was questioning a sous-chef.
“—and was it delivered here?”
“Yes, it came with a note that it was for one of the luncheon
guests, Mademoiselle Schantz. I consulted the seating chart and saw
that she was to be at table thirteen.”
“But where is it now?” Silk’s cravat strained against his windpipe.
The chef wiped his hands on his apron. “The jug is over there. We
thought it might have some, how do you say, sentimental value.” He
pointed to a table against the wall, on which stood, among other
more contemporary containers, a ceramic jug about a foot tall.
“That’s it!” squealed Mauve, and rushed over to the amphora. She
grabbed it by the neck and squeezed. Scoop winced. Then she froze.
“It’s been opened! It’s empty!”
“Why, yes, of course, Mademoiselle. We presumed you wished to
have it served with the meal. It was poured on the humus, baba
ghanouj and labneh for table thirteen instead of the house olive oil.
We had several compliments on its rich nutty flavor.”
“Was—was there anything—solid—inside that jug?”
Sir Aldershot could barely enunciate the words. The chef looked at
him with alarm. Silk’s complexion threatened apoplexy. Mauve
turned the jug upside down and shook it. Dark green drops of oil
spattered her blouse.

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