"The technique for ensuring baby meat is tender is to pound it and pound it. That's the trick,” he said. “You think that it's already juicy, tender young flesh but you'd be wrong. A child's flesh is at its most tender, around 3 or 4 before they go to school and get tougher and full of self doubt. But a baby hasn't lived, there's very little taste, not much flavour either. I wouldn't recommend babies."
- "So what is your favourite dish then?" she asked - innocent like, but she wasn't.
- "Does it have to be human?" he said, knowing that she was just after titillation. All surface, her, no deep thoughts. She wouldn't taste very good.
- "No,” she said. “But it's going to be human isn't it? That's what you're famous for."
- "The reason I asked,” he said, ignoring her presumption, “is the inconsistency in taste and flavour. Look at other types of meat. Usually the main difference is between free range and battery. Now those are broad divisions and within them there's not much variety. But every human is different. It's not just about life experience either. It's how you're feeling when you die, whether you've had sex in the last week, whether you believe in God. All these and infinitely more have a dramatic affect on flavour. The conscious mind has a lot to answer for."
- "And how would I taste?"
- He's been expecting this and felt a wave of ennui wash over him. Nevertheless he did what he knew he would.
- "Tough," he said two hours later. He should have cooked her for longer but her bright bitterness had burrowed into every sinew and it would have made no difference.
