In the lung-searing smog of the smoky shed, Peter tended to the casseroles. They were buried underground, packed in clay which cracked and sent up jets of scalding yellow steam. People queued to taste his Seven Day Seven Night Beef Casserole. It was a sensation.
“I found the recipe in an Anglo-Saxon cookery book,” he told the newspaper reporter. “It was invented for kings, but then it disappeared for hundreds of years.”
He coughed violently inside his hazmat suit and misted the visor. The air in the shed hazed. His wife and children had gone to live with their grandmother.
Funny!
Interesting. I thought, perhaps, it would turn into something about ghosts. Didn’t expect a person so devoted to cooking that his family would move out.
Yeah, it was inspired by a food documentary I watched where someone was preparing this very elaborate curry that looked as if it had taken over his life? So I nudged it to be just a bit more absurd.
That casserole sounds poisonous. Hazmat suit!