Food for Thought

The journey was taking hours longer than it should; a massive storm was imminent, and the first raindrops were already smearing themselves across the windscreen. The seemingly endless twists and turns of the unlit road were taking a toll on his concentration. Luckily there were few other vehicles which meant he had escaped what would have been certain head on collisions when he took the last two bends too quickly. A large whiskey and warm bed beckoned, but a rest break was needed if he were to reach home safely.

Norman Lassiter was not a happy man. Dogged with bad luck all his life, fate appeared to have selected him as a plaything, mocking his impotence as he was subjected to an endless series of misfortunes. He had been an intelligent but sickly child. Being mostly tutored from home he failed to develop the social skills his more robust peers took for granted. Qualifying in accountancy, his academic achievements were impressive, and Norman was keenly sought by potential employers. His social ineptitude was the problem; this meant he was not viewed as management material. He had difficulty in achieving the respect of fellow workers who insisted on referring to him as Norm rather than the full version that he preferred. ‘Norm’ sounded like a drinking buddy whereas ‘Norman’ had a fine pedigree, going back to the times of ancient warriors. However, instead of being a modern-day commercial conqueror, senior roles eluded him. This had led to a pattern of moving from one organisation to another, never really understanding why he was denied promotion. Romance had dealt him a similar hand, he had married Louise, the girl of his dreams, only to be left for another when it became clear that Norman was destined for mediocrity rather than greatness. There was a child from the marriage, their daughter Abby. Norman had delighted in the arrival of the baby. Louise had not shared his feelings, seemingly going through the motions of being a mother. When Louise left, she left both husband and daughter, as though each were contaminated with an oppressive negativity.

Norman doted on Abby. He was devastated when she married and moved to Adelaide, a ten-hour drive away. Abby’s marriage had also collapsed; it was this latest event that saw Norman struggling with the weather and exhaustion as he returned to his home in Melbourne. Although Abby had been emotionally overwhelmed, she had decided to continue with her work in her adopted city, rather than return to the family home. Norman realised that this would mean further trips over the coming weeks to support the one person in the world he cared for most.  A six-car pile-up had left the longer, more hazardous, Great Ocean Road as the only way back.

The next bend almost took him from the road, Norman lurched from side to side as the vehicle went into a skid that carried him perilously close to the dark, white-capped void of the unforgiving ocean. Below lay nothing but surf pounded rocks. He had to stop. But where? The towns on this road were often many kilometres apart and he had at least another hour before reaching the next one. The small sign advertising a café at the next turn was an unexpected relief.

Few roads of any significance manage to connect with the Great Ocean Road, so Norman was not surprised when he turned onto a basic gravel track leading towards a bleak, darkly obscure, landscape. He was about to turn back when he saw a light emanating from the porch of a dilapidated building. A sign with the words ‘Fine Food’ glimmered gaudily and optimistically from a multicoloured neon sign that flickered in the buffeting wind and rain.

The thunderous weather, combined with a need for rest and food, overcame an instinctive feeling to drive away. The establishment was far from inviting. The entire building had a sense of decay, as though it had long ago ceased to serve its purpose as a traveller’s respite for refreshment, or even shelter. The place had seemingly given itself up to the elements, to be absorbed into the surrounding woodland.

Gritting his teeth, Norman entered. He was pleasantly surprised. In the middle of a stone wall facing him, stood a very large fireplace with a substantial wood fire radiating warmth and light. A high beamed ceiling belied the apparent size of the place from the outside. Around the room were a couple of comfortable couches, and between these were some half dozen small tables and chairs. Four of these were already occupied by groups of two to three people. Norman presumed them to be locals, as it was difficult to imagine many travellers would bother to stop, unless they too were trying to escape the wild weather.

“Please sir, take a sit, I arrive in moment.” The heavily accented voice came from a middle-aged man behind the counter to Norman’s left. Feeling exhausted, he sat at the nearest vacant table. The man from the counter bustled his way over, note pad and pen in hand. There was a menu propped on the table with several items, all of which seemed to be pasta dishes. He didn’t really mind what he ate so long as it was warm and filling, so he simply chose one of the items at random only to realise he was not quite sure how to pronounce it. Pointing to it, Norman looked up at the waiter.

“I’ll have that, thanks.”

The waiter frowned a little, peering at the menu, “Sorry sir, we 'ave no tagliatelle, is late. The kitchen, she close now.” The waiter’s accent and his easy pronunciation of the name of the dish, made it clear he was from Italy which explained the number of menu items so unpronounceable to Norman. “We only have the zuppa, er, soup, sir, very sorry.”

Norman glanced at the menu but could not see soup listed. As if reading his mind, the waiter pointed to the top of the list where he saw the word ‘brodo’.

“Ah, ok brodo, right. Is that the soup.”

“Si, er yes sir, brodo”.

“Ok I’ll have the brodo, oh and a cup of strong coffee, with sugar but no milk”.

“Very good sir, will not take long.”

As he waited, Norman looked around the room, noticing the vast difference between the warm, welcoming feel of the place in comparison to the building’s derelict, cold and forbidding exterior. He also noticed that everyone else seemed to be eating out of soup bowls and assumed that the ‘brodo’ had been the only item available from the menu for some time that evening.

He jumped out of his reverie as the waiter placed a bowl of steaming broth in front of him, with some bread portions a glass and bottle of water. The coffee and other accoutrements quickly followed. He noticed a small jug containing a thick liquid with a colour that could be best described as an earthy magenta. The other tables had the same jugs but, strangely, in each one the colour of the contents was different. Norman directed a quizzical look at the waiter who nodded towards the jug and said, “Salsa di animal”. Norman assumed from this that the jug contained some form of animal-based gravy or sauce and quickly shook his head.  

“No, thank you, I’m a vegetarian you see.” The waiter looked pain stricken. The couple at the nearest table stopped eating, openly staring at him.

“But without you have no taste no, ‘ow you say, gusto, flavour. Is our speciality.”

“Bloody tasteless without it, that’s what he’s tryin to tell yer.” said the man at the nearby table.

“I am sure it tastes really good, but the broth will be fine.”

The waiter shrugged despondently as he wandered back to the kitchen. The couple, losing all interest, went back to their meals.

Norman told himself that they meant well but he had long ago given up eating animal flesh. He was determined not to start again. He simply needed something warm and sufficiently sustaining to get home.  Besides, despite the protestations of the waiter and the stranger, the broth tasted fine. Maybe he was hungry, but he found it satisfying, whilst the caffeine began to have the desired effect. Soon, Norman felt he was once again safe to drive without falling asleep at the wheel.

As he paid, the waiter kept looking at him as though wanting to say more. Then, as Norman grasped the receipt, the waiter held on, looking directly into his eyes. “You are welcome back, anytime, brodo is good for you. Next time you have salsa, yes?”

It was surreal, Norman felt like a school-boy who had not met the expectations of his parents and should try harder the next time. There would be no next time of course, it was only by chance that he had stumbled across the eatery, and he would not be going back that way again.

 The rest of the journey was without further incident. Arriving home Norman felt surprisingly awake yet relaxed. That night he slept soundly, despite strange dreams where he found himself back in the weird café. This time he was eating the soup and the strange looking sauce whilst the waiter and customers stood around his table. They were all looking down on him with smiles of encouraging approbation. In the middle of the group, stood his daughter. She too, was smiling encouragingly. She appeared happier than Norman could remember, and he felt a twinge of sadness when he awoke to recall what an unhappy and disillusioned young lady she had become. He felt that his weekend visits would be necessary for some while to give her the psychological support she so badly needed.

The working week did not start well. One of his firm’s leading clients was about to file for bankruptcy. Norman had been appointed to salvage the situation. The financial demise of one of their leading clients would affect both the reputation and the financial status of his own company. The account had been serviced by one of the firm’s senior managers, but Norman knew he had been selected for the task because he was more capable and knowledgeable, even if this was not overtly recognised by the directors. Anyhow, should he fail, it was Norman’s job that would be forfeit thus giving his seniors a safety net for their own positions.

Fate seemed to mock him further because the client had its administrative offices in Warrnambool which was on the main route for Adelaide. Norman would be retracing his journey from the previous day; except this time, he would take the main highway.

It had taken surprisingly little time to resolve the financial problems of Borderly & Borderly. The company manufactured scientific instruments, but sales had dropped, mostly due to government cutbacks of financing to universities and laboratories that were the major consumers of their products. Going through the records, Norman quickly recognised that much of the manufacturing stock consisted of a range of metals and chemicals used by suppliers in the medical and pharmaceutical industries. These were valuable, saleable assets rather than financially burdensome inventory. With his contacts, it had not taken long for Norman to arrange meetings between the directors of Borderly & Borderly and potential buyers of much of this valuable stock. Enough funds would be generated to enable the company to avoid insolvency and remodel their future activities.

Feeling better than he had for some time, Norman began the trip home, thinking perhaps that life was looking a little rosier. However, the diversion sign evoked a pang of unease as Norman Lassiter, for the second consecutive day, found himself having to take the lengthy coast road, whilst above, nature brewed more storm clouds. Once more he found himself struggling through abysmal conditions. He was determined not to stop, yet the storm mocked his efforts to stay awake as the now roaring wind battered sleet against the windscreen. At this point on the journey, Norman knew of only one place to find shelter. Minutes later he found himself in the café from the previous evening.

Curiously, he knew almost before the menu arrived that he would have the ‘brodo’ again. The waiter brought his soup and coffee, together with bread and a bottle of water, placing each on the table as on the previous occasion, except this time, as he carefully set down a small jug containing the salsa, the waiter again looked purposely into Norman’s eyes before returning to the kitchen. Norman suddenly felt as though his next decision would be important. Why? Why should the ingestion of what was basically soup flavouring appear to be so vital?

For each one of us there are crossroads in life that we recognise will have a significant effect on our future; career choices, finding a partner, a place to live, all these and many more, can have an immense impact that is often only illuminated through the lens of retrospection. Somehow, and as banal as it seemed, Norman intuitively knew this was one such occasion as he grasped the small jug and poured it into his soup,

This time, when he paid for his meal, the waiter was effusive. “You enjoy, yes?”

“Yes, it was very nice” Norman replied. He was deliberately understating as the combination of soup and salsa was probably the best thing he had ever tasted. How something so mundane as soup could be so delicious was beyond him.

 “Yes, is very good. You come back, more brodo and more salsa.”

“Yes, I will, er, thank you.” Norman returned the smile, although he had no real intention of keeping his promise.

 In his sleep that night, he returned to the café. The customers surrounded him then, led by the waiter, broke into applause before parting to reveal his daughter. Abby was standing in front of a large wooden, intricately engraved door which she was trying to open. For a moment, the door moved slightly on its large, creaking hinges releasing a glimpse of golden light which suffused the interior of the café before being abruptly cut off as she lost her struggle to open it further.

The Kafkaesque aspects of his life continued the very next day, when Norman was called into his manager’s office and offered a promotion into junior management. The directors obviously saw him as talented and did not want to lose him. Norman felt it was nevertheless a token. As much to his own amazement as well as those of his employers, he declined their offer, telling them he had saved not only their jobs but those at Borderly & Borderly, and if they wanted to keep him then the promotion should reflect his true worth. He informed the board that he would be taking a few days’ leave whilst both parties could consider their options.

Over the next week, Norman visited his daughter on three occasions. At least, Abby thought it was her father. The man she now saw was different. Normally shying away from gatherings, he had even treated her and three of her closest friends to a celebratory meal on her birthday that Thursday. It was more than a boost in his confidence. Norman had become more worldly. Abby didn’t know how to describe it. Her father was more forthright, yet tactful. Much of the advice and encouragement she received from him made sense. Gradually, she felt herself drawn along with his newfound love of life.

Norman did keep his promise to the waiter. Each time he visited his daughter that week he chose the longer route home to stop for what had become his ritualistic meal. On the last occasion he had struck up a conversation with a fellow traveller. Simone worked for the Australian Stock Exchange and was visiting the area for a much-needed escape from a harrowing year in her personal life. The two had much in common and, before leaving to continue her journey, Simone had offered Norman a business card on which was written her personal telephone number.

Norman settled his bill. On the point of leaving, he suddenly stopped and turned back to the waiter. For a moment his old hesitancy returned, struggling to find the right words. “Er, can I ask, that is, what I wanted to know……….” The waiter gave a knowing look.

“The brodo?”

“Yes, the brodo, what is it exactly?”

The waiter smiled and picked up the menu, pointing towards the item which read Brodo della vita.

“Sorry, but I don’t understand Italian. What does it mean?”

“’Brodo della vita’ means broth of life.” Norman was obviously puzzled. “My family, you see, we ‘ave this recipe many, many years. No one knows how old. There is in it all we need for life, it gives you….” He struggled to find the word, “energia”.

“Energy” Norman corrected the waiter then immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Yes, energy.”

“But what about the salsa, what animal is in it?” At this the waiter looked very puzzled, then understanding spread across his face, at first as a smile, then his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Is not animal, is anima” It was Norman’s turn to look puzzled. “Anima is spirit, the soul. Life no good without it. You cannot live if you not have anima.” This puzzled Norman even more and a torrent of questions flooded his mind; however, the waiter’s expression told him that he had said all he was prepared to say. Instead, Norman merely turned towards the front door.

“Thank you, see you next time.”

“No.” the waiter replied politely but firmly. “You no need more brodo. You have anima now, your spirit. Now you enjoy the vita, eh?” He smiled at Norman who simply nodded as he walked out the door, knowing he would never return.