Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) by Sean Platt, David Wright Page B
Authors: Sean Platt, David Wright
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who’s never had the pleasure of tasting the Boricio Breakfast Bomb.”
“Ha, is that what it’s called?”
“Yup,” he nodded, “and it’s had the name for a good five and a half seconds. Seven now,” he added.
“Okay, let’s hear it. The suspense is killing me.” Rose leaned back in her chair and smiled, then brought more coffee to her open mouth.
“Well,” Boricio said, eyebrows raised in display. “I’ve gotta warn you; this recipe is as definite as the details on any designer gown. And,” he added with a conspiratorial smile, “Schooner or Later is the only place you can get it, at least on all of Paddock Island. I’m only saying that to warn you that I might be setting you up for a Matrix Revolutions level of disappointment.”
Rose spit coffee through her laughter, passing the first page of Boricio’s geek test. She said, “As long as it’s better than Sucker Punch, I think we’re good.”
Boricio wanted more.
“So,” he said. “Does that mean you’re prepared to accept the risk?”
“I am,” she nodded, “as long as you realize that reality is the enemy of expectation.”
“Okay then,” he nodded, laughing, four minutes into their conversation and already feeling four feet from a fireplace. “Making the perfect Boricio Breakfast Bomb means starting with the right herbs, and when I say herbs I don’t mean the stuff they sprinkle on the white bread at Appleby’s.” He smiled. “I mean the genuine stuff: tarragon, chervil, coriander, etc. And that last one right there is the secret, the one that makes this Boricio Breakfast Bomb go nuclear,” he smiled wider. “Now, no one thinks of coriander as a fine herb, but that’s their mistake. I’m telling you, it’s coriander that gives the bees their wiry little knees.” He narrowed his eyes at Rose. “Please tell me you know what coriander is?”
“Of course,” she said. “Life without curry is like watching Sucker Punch on repeat.”
“Well, in that case, I think you’re gonna dig what I’m about to deliver.” He laughed.
“I’m waiting for you to prove it.”
Boricio continued. “You’ll also need butter — real butter not that fake sh . . . crap — and you’ll have to ask your waiter because they’re gonna want to use oil in the kitchen. And while there’s nothing wrong with oil, oil isn’t butter. Now you don’t need a lot.” He paused, then said, “It’s like a kiss, start right, and everything that follows is infinitely better.”
Boricio luxuriated in the blush of Rose’s cheeks as she shifted in her seat.
“Besides,” he said, “how can you not love the sound and smell of butter in the pan?”
“It’s impossible,” she said. “But I can’t hear or smell it all the way out here, so the omelet has to be damn good. So far it sounds like an herb omelet with butter. So what makes it so bombtastic?”
“Well,” Boricio said, “that’s because we’ve not yet discussed the dairy. There’s no water allowed near a perfect omelet, which is why the Boricio Breakfast Bomb needs milk or cream. Fortunately, Schooner or Later makes their omelets with milk anyway, so you don’t have to ask.” Boricio leaned across the table. “Now here’s the part that’s gonna blow your mind, and why Schooner is the only place on Paddock where you can order this omelet.”
“I’m ready,” she said. “Blow my mind.”
Boricio laughed. “You’ve gotta use mizithra cheese.”
“Mizithra?” she cried. “That’s too salty. And it would taste horrible with coriander. Blech!”
Boricio shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “It’s a perfect blend. It’s what the gods would eat if they ever ate breakfast.”
Rose laughed, shaking her head furiously back and forth. “Sorry, but that sounds terrible. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched.”
“Have I ever lied to you before?”
“No,” she said. “Not that I know of. But I’ve only had five minutes to
“Ha, is that what it’s called?”
“Yup,” he nodded, “and it’s had the name for a good five and a half seconds. Seven now,” he added.
“Okay, let’s hear it. The suspense is killing me.” Rose leaned back in her chair and smiled, then brought more coffee to her open mouth.
“Well,” Boricio said, eyebrows raised in display. “I’ve gotta warn you; this recipe is as definite as the details on any designer gown. And,” he added with a conspiratorial smile, “Schooner or Later is the only place you can get it, at least on all of Paddock Island. I’m only saying that to warn you that I might be setting you up for a Matrix Revolutions level of disappointment.”
Rose spit coffee through her laughter, passing the first page of Boricio’s geek test. She said, “As long as it’s better than Sucker Punch, I think we’re good.”
Boricio wanted more.
“So,” he said. “Does that mean you’re prepared to accept the risk?”
“I am,” she nodded, “as long as you realize that reality is the enemy of expectation.”
“Okay then,” he nodded, laughing, four minutes into their conversation and already feeling four feet from a fireplace. “Making the perfect Boricio Breakfast Bomb means starting with the right herbs, and when I say herbs I don’t mean the stuff they sprinkle on the white bread at Appleby’s.” He smiled. “I mean the genuine stuff: tarragon, chervil, coriander, etc. And that last one right there is the secret, the one that makes this Boricio Breakfast Bomb go nuclear,” he smiled wider. “Now, no one thinks of coriander as a fine herb, but that’s their mistake. I’m telling you, it’s coriander that gives the bees their wiry little knees.” He narrowed his eyes at Rose. “Please tell me you know what coriander is?”
“Of course,” she said. “Life without curry is like watching Sucker Punch on repeat.”
“Well, in that case, I think you’re gonna dig what I’m about to deliver.” He laughed.
“I’m waiting for you to prove it.”
Boricio continued. “You’ll also need butter — real butter not that fake sh . . . crap — and you’ll have to ask your waiter because they’re gonna want to use oil in the kitchen. And while there’s nothing wrong with oil, oil isn’t butter. Now you don’t need a lot.” He paused, then said, “It’s like a kiss, start right, and everything that follows is infinitely better.”
Boricio luxuriated in the blush of Rose’s cheeks as she shifted in her seat.
“Besides,” he said, “how can you not love the sound and smell of butter in the pan?”
“It’s impossible,” she said. “But I can’t hear or smell it all the way out here, so the omelet has to be damn good. So far it sounds like an herb omelet with butter. So what makes it so bombtastic?”
“Well,” Boricio said, “that’s because we’ve not yet discussed the dairy. There’s no water allowed near a perfect omelet, which is why the Boricio Breakfast Bomb needs milk or cream. Fortunately, Schooner or Later makes their omelets with milk anyway, so you don’t have to ask.” Boricio leaned across the table. “Now here’s the part that’s gonna blow your mind, and why Schooner is the only place on Paddock where you can order this omelet.”
“I’m ready,” she said. “Blow my mind.”
Boricio laughed. “You’ve gotta use mizithra cheese.”
“Mizithra?” she cried. “That’s too salty. And it would taste horrible with coriander. Blech!”
Boricio shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “It’s a perfect blend. It’s what the gods would eat if they ever ate breakfast.”
Rose laughed, shaking her head furiously back and forth. “Sorry, but that sounds terrible. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched.”
“Have I ever lied to you before?”
“No,” she said. “Not that I know of. But I’ve only had five minutes to
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