Pseudonymous Bosch - This Book Is Not Good for You

Copyright 2009 by Pseudonymous Bosch

Illustrations copyright 2009 by Gilbert Ford

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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First eBook Edition: September 2009

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN 978-0-316-07139-0

FOR

INDIA AND NATALIA

WHEN THEYRE OLD ENOUGH

Mmmmm good snap melts a hint of blackberry mmm yes strong is it cardamom? velvety mouth-feel finish mmm

A AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

mmmmm smoothly on the tongue yet earthy underneath note of cinnamon andor maybe licorice? not too sweet lovely must have another

AAAAAAAAAAAAK!

Oh. Its you.

Thank Goodness.

For a second, I thought it waswell, never mind what I thought.

The question is: what am I going to do with you?

You see, Imnbot quhgbite rlaaeady

Sorry, my mouth was full. What I was trying to say was: Im not quite ready for you. Im very busy. Didnt you see the DO NOT DISTURB sign?

What am I doing? Something important. Thats what.

Well, if you must know, Im eating chocolate. But its not like it sounds! Trust me. Its work. Research.

This book is all about chocolate. Andykuh wounbrldbnt wranntsorry, I couldnt resist another biteyou wouldnt want me to write about something I didnt know about, would you?

Whats that? You wouldnt expect anything else from me?

Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Let me tell you something: Im not the same scared writer I used to be, and Im not going to take any guff from you. I have other readers now. Grateful readers. Readers who know how to treat an author.

Take this extra-large box of extra-dark, extra-expensive, extra-delicious chocolates that Im eating right now. Not to toot my own horn but a fan sent it to me as a present.

For P.B.the best writer in the world, said the note.

What? It must be a trick? Nobody would say that about me and mean it?

OK, outnow! Theres no way Im going to write this book with you sitting there insulting me.

Ill tell you what: on my desk, theres a chapter I just finished. Its supposed to come much later in the book, but you might as well read it now while I continue researching.

It will be like a prologue, an amuse-bouche, if you willsomething to tickle your palate before the real meal arrives.

Speaking of meals, which chocolate shall I have next? The caramel nougat or the raspberry ganache?

Eeny meeny miny moe

A bird poked his head through the iron bars and nudged the arm of the girl on the other side. The bird was bright green with a red chest, yellow crest, and big, begging eyes.

Patience, my friend! said the girl. My gosh, you are a greedy bird!

(In reality, she was speaking French and what she said was: Patience, mon ami! Zut alors, tu es un oiseau avide! But the French version is a little less polite.)

Laughing, the girl opened her hand and revealed a small broken piece of chocolatethe same color as her delicate skin.

The bird swallowed it whole, then looked at her beseechingly.

Sorry, thats all I could get today.

The bird squawkedwhether in thanks or in protest, it was hard to telland then flew away, his long tail waving in the wind.

You should be bringing me food. Im the one in the birdcage! the girl called after him as he disappeared into the dense jungle.

Glum, she sat down on the pile of old newspapers that served as her bedand as the only source of entertainment in her cement cell. The bird was a pest but his visits were the highlight of her day. There was nothing to look forward to now.

Look alive, Simone!

One of the guards, the large humorless woman named Daisy, stepped up to her cage. They want you again.

Already? Simone wondered. It had only been an hour since the last time.

They were waiting for her in the Tasting Room.

The three of them, as always, sitting in those tall silver chairs behind that long marble table. In their bright white lab coats. And bright white gloves.

Theyd never introduced themselves, but she had names for them: The tan man with the silver hair, she called him the Doctor. The beautiful blond woman with the frozen smile, she was the Barbie Doll. And the blind man behind the dark sunglasses, he was the Pirate.

They were like a tribunal. Like judges.

Only, weirdly, it was her judgment they were waiting for.

She sat down opposite them on the low stone bench. The one that made her feel about two feet tall.

Always the same routine. First, they made her drink a glass of water. Twice distilled water without any trace minerals, theyd explained. Absolutely tasteless. To cleanse her palate.

Then the Pirate placed in front of her a small square of chocolate on a plain white plate.

A Palet dOr, he called it. A pillow of gold.

And then they waited in silence for her response.

They said she was a supertaster. Somebody with double the usual number of taste buds in her tongue. But she knew it was more than that.

For as long as she remembered shed been able to detect subtle differences in flavors.

Was the honey made from orange blossoms or clover? Clover. Blackberry or boysenberry? Gooseberry. Was that lemon thyme or lemon verbena? Neither, it was lemongrass.

She was like one of those virtuosos who can play an entire symphony by ear the first time they sit at a piano. She had the taste equivalent of perfect pitch.

Now, in this cold room so far from home, she looked down at the Palet dOr. It was dark to the point of blackness, and it had a silky sheen.

Carefully, she nibbled off a corner. And closed her eyes.

For weeks theyd been making her try darker and darker pieces. Some so chocolaty and dense they were like dirt. Some so intensely flavorful they were like a jolt.

But this was something else altogether. It was like ultra chocolate. The quintessence of chocolate.

It was the best thing shed ever tasted.

And the worst.

Tears streamed down her face as she experienced a lifetime of emotions all at once.

The taste of the chocolatethe tastes, that is, because the chocolate tasted of so many thingstook her back to her childhood. To her familys old cacao farm in the rainforest.

In flashes, she remembered the gnarled roots of the cacao trees and the damp, fragrant earth.

She remembered the flowers those little pink flowers that bloomed year-round not on branches but right on the trunks of the cacao trees as if each tree had come down with a case of flowery measles