Julian by Nathan Leslie

The gourmand had eaten everything. Former restaurant reviewer for the local newspaper, he was as familiar with sautéed crickets as with eel bladders and haggis. Despite this, Julian did not aspire to eat exotic food. He preferred a tenderloin and garlic mash. He was happy with a Greek salad and grilled salmon. However, the restaurants catered to the unusual, the aesthetically-arranged, the Instagram set. He would bet his house that the popularity of social media spurred on the small plates movement. Less food, more hoopla. Less food, more glistening images of food. Higher prices.

At fifty-two Julian had nothing left to lose, he thought. He was already overweight and his cholesterol numbers were through the roof. His doc put him on statins and his blood sugar was elevated, too. “Need to exercise,” the doc said. “Cut back on the clarified butter. No ifs, ands or buts.” But Julian couldn’t help it—always onto the next thing, the next spot. So many reviews to write, not enough time. It wasn’t until the mini-stroke that he finally processed his choices. He quit his position, took up a job working for the rec department. Low-key, thousands of steps per day for trail maintenance. It was perfect for him; he could even do with less money. Who needs the stress? Who needs the hassle?

But he missed the food–he missed the buzz. Julian longed for that rush of adrenaline when he walked through the door—when they realized who he was, when they began to kowtowed to him. That shock of recognition—if only he could bottle it. It was true–he craved attention as much as the next truffle. Would never admit it. He particularly adored going to sleep at night knowing that by early the next morning his latest restaurant review would be featured front and center. He could make them or break them.

And even though he had to drop it, how could he do without the Olive Pit or Adelaine’s or St. Mistrals? He couldn’t. These were not just restaurants, they were old friends. 

St. Mistrals had a special event. “Dangerous eats,” they called it. Dragon’s breath chili, blood clams, casu marzu cheese, nomura’s jellyfish, apple seeds, even fugu and sannakji, the raw, still moving octopus tendrils. It was $100 to join the event and each participant would take on their peers in an eat-off, a game of culinary chicken, so to speak (his mother, who taught him the ins and outs of fine cuisine, would have loved it). Julian managed the fugu and the casu marzu cheese and even nomura’s jellyfish was palatable and not too difficult to negotiate. The final course was sannakji. This is a dish he had not had before, although he had heard much about it–the Koreans liked their octopus tentacles raw, with perhaps a simple basting. The downside, as most knew, was that one could easily choke on a tentacle if it wasn’t cooked or completely “dead.” The tentacles had a mind of their own, it was said. The trick of it was to just get to chewing. Chew quickly so the tentacles can’t latch on, do their own chewing back.

Julian thought nothing of it. To him it was just an old wives’ tale—people are just overly anxious over nothing. So he popped the tentacle in his mouth and began chewing. Then it was the lump at the back of his throat, and then the lump was rising, enlarging in his throat, becoming more than it was. And then Julian couldn’t breathe. And then he couldn’t chew. And then. And then. Something electric happened inside him. And.

Nathan Leslie won the 2019 Washington Writers’ Publishing House prize for fiction for his satirical collection of short stories, Hurry Up and Relax. He is also the series editor for Best Small Fictions. He is the author of thirteen books including Invisible Hand, A Fly in the Ointment, Sibs, and The Tall Tale of Tommy Twice. Nathan is currently the founder and organizer of the Reston Reading Series in Reston, Virginia, and the publisher and editor of the online journal Maryland Literary Review. His fiction has been published in hundreds of literary magazines such as Shenandoah, North American Review, Boulevard, Hotel Amerika, and Cimarron Review. Nathan’s nonfiction has been published in The Washington Post, Kansas City Star, and Orlando Sentinel. Nathan lives in Northern Virginia.