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Science Fiction
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"...science fiction is sort of like a sociological genome. It's a huge range of possible futures, most of them useless; some vital. You never really know in advance."
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Tongue in cheek story provides an unusual place to meet and eat - the Nebulae Science Fiction Restaurant.
Of course, there's a restaurant review:
WELL, now I’ve seen everything! ...But now I’ve finally left this old planet (figuratively speaking) and eaten stuff right out of this world. I refer to the new science fiction restaurant off Broadway where there’s a Venus Room complete with a giant wall tank containing (no kidding^ a live octopus, said octopus staring at you as closely as you stare at him (it gives you the willies ) ; there’s a Mars room where the carpet is red sand, the chairs and tables are carved of solid rock and you are served by two characters dressed in Buck Rogers suits complete with closed helmets whose faceplates are polarized glass, I think...
The headwaiter will scare hell out of you. Who the taxidermist was that cured the skin he wears I don’t know, but the guy’s dressed like a giant tiger-cat, six feet eight inches tall, standing on hind legs, color of the hide purple and gold. Instead of paws he has eight fingers hidden in a sort of rubbery glove and he writes with two of them, the others hang limp, as if stuffed.
There’s no conversation, all business is transacted by scribbling messages to the customers on pads of paper, but you, dear customers, can talk freely, ordering whatever you wish from the incredible menu.
I had a snake-egg souffle a la Pluto, a weird dish that had the same effect on my sense of balance as a shot of gin with no chaser. There was a luminous vegetable soup which strangely bothered my eyes until I actually thought the miniature stall s of celery in it were trying to crawl out of the bowl, were alive and could move.
Delicious. Then I ordered something called Breesk which looked like a plastic black cube three inches square. Most astonishing thing I ever ate. It’s hard until you pour a violet sauce over it and then it gives off smoke and a heady food perfume, turning soft and gooey. Tastes like a cross between filet mignon and peanut butter, believe it or not.
Compare to the interplanetary restaurant from Asteroid Pirates (1938) by Royal W. Heckman, the multispecies hotel from Hotel Cosmos (1938) by Raymond Z. Gallun and the Draco Tavern appearing in that story series by Larry Niven.
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