Monday, August 6, 2012

Flash Fiction - Fusion

Good day,

 I'm very slowly easing my way back into updating this so I'm just doing to do brief posts every week until some big ideas arrive.

 Here's what I hope will be the first of many.


            “This whole strip sells fusion food?” he asked, tugging my arm close.
            I giggled. Seeing him out of his element was so cute. “Yep; Thai/Viet, Korean/Japanese, Chinese/Mongolian, the whole Horn of Africa, every country south of Mexico, even some obscure ones.”
            “Obscure how?”
            “Ever had Ithailian?”
            “Italian/Thai? The owners apparently met in Pattaya.”
            “I wouldn’t trust anything that came out of Pattaya. It’s probably seasoned with syphilis,” he quipped, being difficult.
            Huffing, I led him along, “Okay then, How about Swedinese? Romaniarabian? Taiwambodian?”
            He shook his head, “Can’t we just go to a diner or something? Something like you’d see in 1950s America?”
            “There’s one like that, but it’s based more on how America was seen in old Soviet propaganda films.”
            “Oh, good.”
            “What’s eating you?”
            “I just want to get away from fusion cuisine. I see enough of it at my house.”
            “Really?” I asked, pausing. A thought occurred to me, “Come to think of it, what’s your background?”
            He grunted and gave a shrug, “My dad’s Ukrainian and my mom’s from Turkey.”
            I wasn’t expecting that. It filled wonderful images in my head, “Wow! So what’s Turkrainian food like?”
            “Exactly what it sounds like. Can we move on?”
            I groaned and we went to the diner. The Moscow Breakfast seemed to tie him over. A shame; I really could have gone for some Indonigerian.


See you next time,


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