Comestibly Ever After
by Rachel Rodman
The Brave Little Tenderloin
“Seven at one blow!” cried the scraps of the tenderloin. And, indeed, at the cue of this cry, the entire dinner party doubled over, clutching their stomachs, sickened by the Trichinella that the tenderloin had harbored.
Jack and the Beans and Guac
When the giant woke, the magic snack platter was empty.
Nothing remained. Not a shred of cheese, or a dried olive, or even a particle of salt.
“Fee-Fie-Foe-Fachos!” he howled — so loud that every stone in the castle reverberated with his anguish. “Bring me back my enchanted nachos!”
Beauty and the Feast
“Kiss me,” said the scalloped potatoes, “and I will be transformed.”
“Kiss me,” said the roast turkey, “and I will be transformed.”
So she did kiss them, kiss all of them, course after course after course.
And the magic was real, in a way. Because what appeared, in a day or two, when she peeked into her chamberpot, did indeed constitute a profound transformation.
But it was not very beautiful.
“The last thing that I would ever want would be a foot-long sandwich,” said the boy with a wicked little wink.
Animated by his lie, the 6-inch sandwich twisted and stretched, until it was double its original length — and precisely the size that Pinocchio had secretly desired it to be.
The Boy Who Cried “Witlof”
“That’s lettuce,” said the boy’s mother. She tossed her gathering basket angrily to the ground, in order to underline the bitterness of her disappointment.
“And I’ll never believe you again.”
The Frog Quince
“It’s just... so gross...” sobbed the princess.
“You must eat it,” said the king sternly. So the princess, whimpering, lifted a spoonful of the jelly to her lips.
And there, still hesitating, she allowed it to hover: wobbly and orange and mucilaginous.
Peter, Peter Pumpkin Pie
The way to anyone’s heart, man or woman, is through the stomach. So, for this Peter — creamy and thick; buttery and spiced, in just the right measure — things worked out differently.
Enamored of his delicious body, she always came back to him. For seconds. For thirds. For forever.
So, this Peter had his wife, yes.
But he also kept her.
All evening, he had danced with a series of tedious partners, costumed in the traditional way. Skirts of bow tie pasta and blouses of elbow macaroni. Dresses fashioned from thick tubes of manicotti.
He gripped the shoulder of his manservant, shaken by the vision.
At the far end of the ballroom was an unknown girl. The threads of her gown were impossibly long and impossibly thin, and they swayed and swayed as she danced, hypnotically elegant.
Rump Roast Stiltskin
“Are you beef?” asked the Queen on the third day.
The little roast hopped up and down so furiously that it nearly shattered its baking dish. With a shriek of rage it demanded, “How did you know?”
“You leaked,” said the Queen, and pointed to a faint spatter of brown drippings in the hallway. Then, with a triumphant smile, she brought a fingertip theatrically to her mouth and licked it.
Snow White and the Seven hors d’œuvres
Inside the cottage, there were many warm things arrayed artfully about a table, as if waiting for her:
- Happy Canapés
- Bashful Bocconcini
- Grumpy Chutney
- Doc au Gratin
- Sneezy Fondue
- and seventh, and sweetest: Dopey Drumettes.
But they were not enough.So when, at last, at last! her prince came to her, she met him at the cottage steps, faint with need.
And into his ear, as her jaw unhinged, wide, wide — as wide as any princess’s ever had — she confided: “I am the hungriest of them all.”
Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Rodman