6

His home was nicely decorated and very well kept.

But, sadly, the food wasn't held up to those standards. The food was what I had been called here for.

Even as I slumped into my seat at the table, I knew that this was going to be a serious problem. Not even a mild problem - a serious problem for my general health and wellbeing. Unidentifiable lumps of stuff quivered a little underneath probing from my fork. I tried not to focus too much on it and transferred my attention to the next item on the plate. It was almost sad. Everything was neatly arranged. Well, as neatly arranged as unidentifiable food could be. I tried to rationalize it with a few simple facts: since my friend was an interior designer and not a cook, I could expect nice plating but certainly not edible food. Unfortunately the plating couldn't make up for the fact that I suffered from a deep-rooted fear of the plate that sat in front of me. I ran my fork around the edge of the plate, trying to waste a bit more time. The smell was beginning to get to me, my stomach turning. It was bitter, rotten, and basically everything that you didn't want on a plate of food. In other words, simply rancid.

"Come on, try it," a voice interrupted my nervous thoughts. I glanced up from the plate and offered one of my oldest friends as polite a grin as I could muster. I knew he had put effort into the dish, but if this was effort, then I shuddered to think what a casual meal was. Probably a mass of grey mush that slid around on the plate with some sort of weird squelching noise.

"Um," I tried to begin, then stopped. There was no point. I would either have to walk out right now and say that I had forgotten about a previous appointment or simply try it. With barely concealed disgust I shut my eyes, I stuck a mouthful of the closest item on my plate, and swallowed it as quickly as possible. Do not think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Somehow I succeeded in not actually considering the taste but instead thought about the strangely bitter aftertaste. Bitter. That was not fun.

Out of pure courtesy I offered my friend a small smile tinged with a little bit of pity. I knew that this was his best effort, and I would commend him for it, but this was dancing on the line between edible and inedible. I poked something that looked suspiciously lik meat. Mystery meat, hopefully pork. Well, that was just helpful. I sawed into it with a grim expression. Talk about uneven cooking. A little overcooked there, too close to raw a centimeter away.

Okay. I wasn't even going to go there. I shoved the meat a little further away from me and shut my eyes again. Once again it was more unidentifiable stuff. This particular item was colored a tan that didn't look healthy at all, sort of mottled. It was at best a little fluffy. I prayed that these were mashed potatoes and with one final prayer I stuck some of the substance into my mouth and chewed as gingerly as I could. This wasn't bitter but simply tasteless with a strangely chemical undertone. Finally I cracked open an eyelid, deciding that I had mostly recovered from whatever it was. "You know, how about we... go out to eat? I have a little money. Everything on me." This was a complete lie, but it was a lie that would probably save me from a severe case of food poisoning.

After all, a little white lie never hurt anyone. Besides, sometimes it was necessary.