by Rick Boatright

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course we came, la.s.s."

"At least it's over now."

"Over? What's over?"

"This steam nonsense."

"Tisn't nonsense, la.s.s. Your grandfather died because he got the last bitworking ."

"It's still nonsense, Mr Iverson." She pointed at the "monster" in the work-yard. "What does it do that the mill doesn't do now?"

"It works when the water is frozen. It works when there is no breeze. It works when, and as hard, as we ask it to. And it eats coal or wood, not hay or grain. "Your grandfather was right, and it's up to the rest of us to make it the success he knew it would be.

Bradford Steam Works is ready to start offering stationary engines to mills and others, now, with your grandfather's invention of the automated condensing sprayer."

"Invention? What invention? You're just playing at being up-timers. There's nothing under the sun they didn't already try."

"Be that as it may, Victoria. Your grandfather's sprayer lets the steam condense fast enough that we don't have to have such a perfect fit in the piston. The leather seals are good enough to still generate the vacuum we need." Mr Iverson paused. "It's really too bad he b.u.mped the valve while he was tightening the tie rod and was crushed like that. But thanks to your grandfather, la.s.s, we get a good fast vacuum. If it didn't work so well, of course, he wouldn't have been killed, but thanks to your grandfather, when the steam goes away, the enginereally sucks."

A Matter Of Taste

by Kerryn Offord

The dining hall of a military leased house, Magdeburg, 1634 Cory Joe Lang looked down at his empty place mat. He had a bad feeling about the group's latest action. There had been mutterings about the food before, but this time they'd sent it back untouched.

Even he hadn't been prepared to try Chef Magnus' latest offering, and with Velma Hardesty for a mother, he'd grown used to eating just about anything that was put on the table. Usually, anything had to be better than whatever his mother had cooked, but he hadn't been able to get past the smell of the stuff, whatever it was.

He looked around the dining room. Aaron Tyler, the guy responsible for initiating the food revolt, was busy telling his friends Vern Bellamy, Clint Acton and Daly Threlkeld about how this would teach the cook not to keep serving up that kind of junk. Cameron Hinshaw looked as guilty as Cory felt, while Casey Vanorman still hadn't recovered from having his meal s.n.a.t.c.hed away before he finished eating it.

There was a rattle of the door and suddenly a Viking berserker burst into the dining room. Cory slid lower in his chair as Chef Olaus Magnus stormed up to the table, his eyes flashing and a giant meat cleaver in his right hand. "You sent back my lutfisk!" Chef Magnus emphasized the statement by swinging the meat cleaver, burying it into the table. Then he placed his big, meaty hands on the table and glared at the men seated around it. "What is wrong with my lutfisk?" The fire in Chef Magnus' eyes scared Cory more than the still vibrating meat cleaver. He and the rest of the guys sat mute.

"Well? Answer me. What is it with you people? You eat my stew. You eat the bread and dripping. But when I dig into the measly allowance the army provides to pay for your food to give you my greatest creation, you send it back. You didn't even try it! Was there something wrong with it?"

Cory tried to sooth the savage beast. "There was nothing wrong with it, sir. It's just that it's not what we're used to."

Chef Magnus seemed to be about to accept Cory's peace offering. Until that fool Tyler started playing with fire. "I'm not eating no more stinking, weird . . . foreign stuff. I demand you make us some real American food."

Oh, G.o.d. That's going too far. Tyler is so dead.Cory shut his eyes to spare himself the sight of Aaron getting his just desserts.

After a couple of minutes without hearing the sound of a meat cleaver striking flesh, Cory opened his eyes. Aaron was still alive, for now. But Chef Magnus was towering over the cringing Aaron with that meat cleaver in his hand.

"My lutfisk is not 'stinking, weird, foreign stuff.' It is the ultimate in fine Swedish cuisine and deserves to be treated with respect." Chef Magnus drew himself up to his full five foot six and glared at Aaron .

"What, may I ask, is this 'real American food' you demand I prepare for you?"

"Hamburgers, pizza, hot dogs, chili dogs . . ." Aaron 's voice trailed off in the face of Chef Magnus'

unblinking stare.

Chef Magnus seemed to be a little appeased by Aaron 's answer. He stood in thought for a moment.

"Dog." He smiled. "I do a very good roast dog."

There were choking sounds from around the table. A couple of the men giggled. Aaron laughed. Chef Magnus' took a firm grip on his meat cleaver. "I have said something funny?"

Even Aaron , Cory was happy to notice, realized Chef Magnus wasn't happy with the laughter, and kept his mouth shut. "Er, sir. Aaron didn't mean he wants you to serve dog."

Chef Magnus glared at Cory before using the meat cleaver to point to Aaron. "He said he wanted dog. I heard him."

"No. Yes." Cory swallowed. The way that meat cleaver was flashing around made it difficult to think.

"We didn't eat dog back up-time, sir. Those are just names for the . . ." He paused, searching for the right word. ". . . meals. Up-time meals. Something we call 'fast food.'"

Chef Magnus brushed back his chef's cap with his left hand and wrinkled his brow. "Fast food? You mean something you eat before Lent?"

"No." Corey shook his head. "Fast food is usually stuff that's quick to cook that you can pick up and eat on the run." "Fast food that is not food before a fast. Dog, but without the dog." Chef Magnus gave Cory a frustrated look. "Do you know how to make any of these fast foods'?"

Cory hesitated. Back up-time he'd worked after school at the local McDonalds. "I've made hamburgers.

They're just grilled ground meat in a steamed bun with lettuce and other vegetables, sometimes with a slice of cheese, and maybe a fried egg added."

"Steamed bun? Why would you want to steam a bun? And what kind of cheese?" Chef Magnus was obviously waiting for Cory to say something, but all Cory could do was indicate his ignorance by shrugging.

Chef Magnus buried his head in his hands. "Why me, Lord? Why me?" He lowered his hands to look at the anxious faces around the table. "If you wish to eat 'real American foods,' then I must know how to prepare them. Do you have recipes?" The men shook their heads. "Do you know anybody who has recipes?" Most of the men nodded. "Good. When I have some recipes, then maybe you will get what you want."

Chef Magnus pushed himself away from the table, straightened his cap, took his cleaver in hand and said, "I am glad we have had this little discussion." Then he turned and made his way to the dining room door. He'd just grasped the door handle when Clint Acton called out, "But what about dinner? What do we eat tonight?"

He turned and smiled. "I have some lovely lutfisk."

Several of the men turned a shade of green. Others suddenly had difficulty swallowing. Cory admitted defeat for them all. "That would be nice, sir."

The kitchen of the same military leased house Olaus gathered his a.s.sistants around. "Oskar, Petter. First thing tomorrow, I want you to go around to the American mission and start asking about recipes. Find out everything you can." He smiled at his a.s.sistants. "We will surprise these idiots with some of their fast food."

"Herr Magnus, one of them has eaten some of his meal."

Olaus jerked around at the interruption. "What? Someone gave my lutfisk the respect it deserved? Show me."

The servant pointed at the returned meals. There, amongst half a dozen untouched plates, was one that was at least a third eaten. Olaus reached out a hand. There was little heat radiating from the food. He turned to his a.s.sistants, an evil grin on his face. "Oskar, replace this plate with hot food. Then take it back to the dining room with the rest. Ask who ate their lutfisk. Give him the plate of hot food. The rest of them can settle for eating the food they so rudely sent back."

Oskar grinned back. "Immediately, Olaus." He loaded a plate with a fresh serving, placed a cover over it, and carried that towards the dining room. A team of servers followed with the remaining meals.

Petter, Olaus, and even the apprentices followed. None of them wanted to miss whatever happened.

The dining hall Oskar stood at the door, the covered plate held chest high in front of him. "One of you started on their meal. Who are you please?"

Casey Vanorman gingerly put his hand up. Oskar walked round to serve him.

"You ate that stuff?" Aaron was scathing.

"It doesn't taste that bad, Aaron. Not with the side dishes. You're just letting the smell get in the way of the taste."

"How could you get past the smell?" Aaron looked at the meal being placed in front of Casey. "I know it can't taste good just from looking at it. The smell just confirms that. Mom would never expect me to eat anything that smelled that bad."

Casey looked up, finished chewing his latest mouthful, and smiled. "Then you wouldn't have liked eating at home." He grinned. "One year Mom tried us on durian."

"Durian?" Cory asked.

Casey looked across to Cory. "It's a fruit. The Asians call it the 'king of fruits.' But it's a bit notorious for its smell. Mom discovered some in Washington's Chinatown one year and decided we had to try it."

"And . . . ?"

"The first couple weren't so bad, but I think the last one was a bit overripe. Not even Mom would eat it."

"Hey!" Aaron looked from the plate of food that had just been placed in front of him, to Casey's obviously hot food, to Oskar. "How come his food's hot and mine isn't?"

Daly Threlkeld and Clint Acton quickly seconded Aaron 's cry.

"It is simple." Somehow Oskar was able to keep a straight face. "Herr Vanorman was eating his meal when the rest of you sent everything back. So he got a fresh serving. The rest of you didn't even try it.

Herr Magnus was most offended." He shook his head and gave the Americans a pitying look. "That was not well done, gentlemen. Please be sure to ring as soon as you are finished. When serving lutfisk, all utensils should be cleaned as soon as possible. Good evening, and please enjoy your meal."

A few smart steps and Oskar was out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Olaus grinned broadly at Oskar. "Very good, Oskar. That will teach them. Let us return to the kitchen and finish our meal."

"This stinks." Aaron screwed his nose up at the lutfisk on his fork. "Mom would never make me eat thiss.h.i.t. They could at least have reheated it."

Cory swallowed a mouthful. "Give it a rest, Tyler. You're not at home now. Eat it or leave it, but stop complaining."

Cameron Hinshaw loaded his fork. "It's our own fault. It was hot when we sent it back."

Aaron gulped some wine to wash down the taste. "Yeah, well, first thing tomorrow I'm writing home to ask Mom for some recipes for real food." He gestured with his fork to the food still on his plate. "I don't want to have to eat this ever again."

"Yeah, this is a bit extreme." Cory hesitated. "It'd be a waste of time asking my Mom for any recipes. I don't think she ever gave us anything that wasn't frozen or out of a can. But I guess my aunt could help."

He surveyed the faces around the dining hall table. "I guess we're all going to be writing to someone in Grantville for some recipes." He looked across to Casey, who had just about cleared his plate. "Except maybe Casey."

Casey looked up. "What? Is someone talking to me?"

Cory smiled. "I just wondered if you plan on copying the rest of us and writing home for some recipes for real food?"

"Oh yeah. Mom's got tons of recipes." Casey looked around the table. "Hey, Aaron, if you don't want your lutfisk, can I have it?"

Cory had to bite his tongue to stop himself laughing at the look on Aaron's face as pushed his half eaten serving across to Casey. How Casey could eat that c.r.a.p with such obvious enjoyment he didn't know.

That he could even think of eating it when it was cold made him shudder.

Casey sc.r.a.ped the food from Aaron's plate onto his own. "Thanks."

Office of the American mission "Elisabeth, I'm just off to do some shopping. If my husband should finally show up, please be sure to let him know I'm not happy. This is the second time he's stood me up."

Elisabeth Vendenheim smiled. "Of course, Frau Drahuta. If I see Lieutenant Drahuta I will give him your message."

"Thanks. Tell him I expect to only be a couple of hours. Bye." Belle gave Elisabeth a wave and left the reception room with her two companions.

Oskar and Petter had been just behind Belle when she talked to Elisabeth. Their eyes followed the three women as they left the building. They exchanged looks, and set off in pursuit, their intention of speaking to the receptionist forgotten.

"Frau. Frau Drahuta. Could we have a moment of your time, please?" Belle, and her sisters-in-law Jana Barancek and Tasha Kubiak turned at the interruption. "Do I know you?" Belle asked.

"No, Frau. We heard the other Frau call your name." Oskar bowed. "I am Oskar Karlsson, my companion is Petter Pettersson. We are a.s.sistant cooks in a house used to quarter some soldiers. They have been asking for 'real American food.' Something they call 'fast food.' Unfortunately, none of them know how to make it. Chef Magnus has sent us out in search of a.s.sistance. Is it possible you or your companions might be able to help us?"

"These are young male Americans you're catering for, I a.s.sume? Tasha asked.

Oskar nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"

Belle grinned. "It was the claim that fast food was real that gave the game away."

Oskar and Petter exchanged confused looks. "Not real? Please, you are confusing us."

Belle gave the two down-timers a sympathetic smile. "Young American males think fast food is real food. Their mothers tend to disagree."

Oskar sighed. "But they will eat it without complaint?"

The three women exchanged grins. "Oh yes. They'll eat the junk. The guy who won't eat that stuff hasn't been born yet."

Oskar gave Tasha a weak smile. "You are sure of this? Chef Magnus was most upset when they refused to eat his latest offering."

Tasha nodded. "I'm a cook in a greasy spoon back in Grantville. Believe me, if you serve what they call real food, they'll clean their plates."