Culinary Deviant

The door to the manor’s third floor private chamber creaked as it opened, revealing a frail silhouette lit by the soft glow of beeswax candlelight.

Alice Read crept through the unoccupied room and awoke the dormant hearth. Sweat glistened off the young girl's tired face as she sat at the foot of the large oak bedframe to catch her breath and calm her nerves in front of the growing fire.

Though Alice was many moons away from womanhood, a life of poverty and servitude had robbed her of her youth. Her hardened face had long abandoned its healthy flush and instead donned an ashen pallor.

But there was still one desire that reinvigorated her spirit and body.

When the urge came, the cravings would be the only thought that occupied her mind. Even in sleep she could not escape them, manifesting into dreams that would leave her feeling unfulfilled一an emptiness that gnawed at her relentlessly一until she finally gave into temptation.

Brushing strands of damp auburn hair away from her cheeks, Alice readied herself. Tonight was the culmination of a months-long obsession. There would only be one opportunity and limited time for her to execute her plan. She’d been excused from her evening duties by feigning pain and discomfort, alluding to the start of the monthly sickness, which put her in poor condition to be serving the family. If the other maidservants didn’t find her, back in the west hallway, when they returned from washing up after supper, they would surely inform Housekeeper Emelia. Anything to gain favor, or temporary grace from the tyrant.

The Byron estate was one of the largest in Norfolk, but the manor itself only occupied a small fraction of the land. William Byron the 3rd’s gardens sprawled over almost half of the rolling lowlands and it boasted a large collection of botanical rarities that very few in the county, and perhaps even the kingdom, would have even seen. It was the envy of other lords, noblemen, naturalists and many others of high status.

Reaching into her apron, Alice pulled out a small bundle of ingredients she’d collected. The sweet oil and herbs were easy to find in the kitchen. But the third. That took more discretion and careful planning to acquire. And it was finally in her hands.

Alice ran her fingers over its smooth, bulbous body, caressing its ridges and folds. It covered her palm fully, threatening to spill over, but it was all held together by the bright red skin that pulled taut over the undulations.

It was grotesque. Repulsive even. One of the Devil’s creations.

Rumors floated through the manor’s grounds that this flesh, redder than blood, was evil. That it caused afflictions of the body and soul. That it was poison. That it was designed to pollute the mind with lust and temptation.

The anticipation of consuming its corrupt flesh excited Alice. Any fear that sparked in her, causing her heart to jump, quickly spread through her core like pulses of lightning. Alice hadn’t felt this way since she snuck up behind one of the estate’s horses, a reliable silver palfrey, and cut a slice of meat from its haunch. She placed the blame for the grisly attack on a roaming pack of wolves from the nearby hill forests, to a skeptical Housekeeper Emelia. She fondly recalled the time she secretly placed the severed tip of her fellow maidservant's finger, cut off during supper, into her apron, knowing that the knife she handed over had been sharpened specifically for such an ‘accident’.

Alice didn’t question why these moments of consuming the forbidden brought her such excitement. It had been this way since she was a child. Eating the forest dirt, ants, spoiled food. Initially, it was the horrified reactions of the Sisters and other children at St. Julians that drove her, but eventually, Alice’s obsessions grew to such an extent that she’d found herself in more trouble than fifty lashes at the hands of Sister Meredith. If either Housekeeper Emelia or the other maidservants found out about her secret feasts, she’d be dragged away to Colchester Castle by the witch hunt. It didn’t help that her grim features一 dark eyes, sunken cheeks, and snaggled teeth一would be easy evidence of her evil origin. So, her twisted rituals were only performed with the presence of the dark spirits that possessed her一condemned her一to this compulsion.

Alice looked to the fire, which now crackled steadily. The occult altar was ready.

***

Sprigs of sage, parsley and thyme danced as saffron flames from the hearth embraced the clay skillet’s ochre walls. A shallow pool of sweet oil roared gently around the mingling herbs, coaxing out a blend of woody and spicy aromatics.

The leaves curled and browned, cueing the addition of this gathering’s next guest. But what was to enter next was not the usual rabbit, ham preserve, or pike from the Waveny river.

The forbidden ingredient was thrust into the oil, which spat and hissed in protest.

When the frenzied oil settled, Alice carefully lifted one of the warm morsels of flesh to her mouth. Her mouth watered and her heart raced. The bright red flesh was now charred with the cooked herbs speckling the bottom. The juices had caramelized and thickened into an almost honey-like texture.

The smell was inoffensive. Slightly tart with a savoury end-note. But that did not do the flavours that Alice experienced in her mouth any justice. The firm and juicy bolus of the Spanish fruit that William Byron brought back from his trip to Rome, slid down her throat and she could feel it settle into her stomach comfortably.

She remembered when Lord Byron proudly showed off the sprawling vines in a small plot of land at the east end of the winding gardens. Among the foliage, Alice spotted green berry-like fruit, which bore a striking resemblance to the deadly nightshade. Tomate. That was the name that the merchant in Rome gave Lord Byron, shared by the Spanish conquistadors that brought the seeds to this part of the world for the first time.

Over the next weeks, Alice had watched as the ominous berries plumped to the size of bread rolls and took on a deep blush. Stories and rumors flew around the manor as the bizarre fruit ripened, securing the allure of the tomate in Alice’s mind.

Alice went for another bite, and then one more. Soon the hunks of flesh were gone leaving no evidence of her secret feast. Even the oily reduction that had formed on the pan had been sopped away with some bread she’d packed with the other ingredients.

She wasn’t certain if indulging her desires would ever catch up to her. Maybe she would be violently ill or even dead by morning. But she was certain of one thing; this obsession would not end with just one taste. There would have to be more.