The Nun of Hell

The Nun of Hell

You slam the door behind you. Phew ! It's all behind you now. You take a breath...

But slowly your attention is drawn on what you may expect in this new room. Hardly emerged from a nightmare than you are yet ready to get back in it.
However, at your great surprise, what appears in front of you is nothing like another torment. On the contrary it is a lavish dinner that literally blows up before your eyes ; and all your senses start drooling. Delicate vapours and aromas of soups, roasts and condiments titillate your nostrils. Mellow, crunchy, sour and sweet... It is all there waiting for you.

Soon your palate absorbs by anticipation the thousand treats that are going to please it. The shiny nacres of meat coated with gravy wet your retina with tempting shades of brown and beige.

No, you really did not choose the worst of sins !

Grunch, sblurf sblurf...

Here, in front of you, is the range of the good food : a profusion of game – this pheasant tempts you : you detach a leg ; its dense flesh that you are pressing with your teeth oozes a warm and sweet juice ; pâtés, soles and crayfish are calling you.

The exquisite aroma of a lamb leg makes you turn the other way ; you cut up a large slice that you turn over three times in its own gravy... What a treat ! And these veal olives floating in a mushroom and Madeira sauce... They blend so well inside the mouth with a Ksara wine. A flavour like the savour of...

Indeed you may conceive that one likes fare as much as flesh. Culinary delight is certainly as good as sex !

You were starving... Now you are full. But gastronomic curiosity takes over.		You bite here and there, you pick among the dishes the most various flavours. It is a king's diner party, a musketeer's feast. A whole beef is caramelising in the fireplace, sweating its grease. From time to time, out of breath, you rinse your throat with long gulps of wine.

And then gluttony can resume more than ever : quail with grapes, sorrel salmon... You get back into the cooking pots in quest for the juicy bits.

As one way or another you will have to stop, you decide to skip cheeses.

So here you are, straight to the desserts. And, full with wonder, you note that they are light and fresh pies, ripe fruits that chill out your temples and your forehead like clear water on embers.

Immediately your body recovers from the feast. Blood starts to circulate into your brain again. The little exotic fruit treatment has soon revived you.
Now full up, you would have gladly put two fingers in your throat in order to taste every other flavour that did not touch your taste buds yet. But, from the end of the banquet room, a lovely creature proposes to offer you a drink. One last drink. An after-diner liquor.

Who would dare refuse anything to a beauty of that kind ? However, the digestive virtues of an alcoholic drink after a meal, isn't it some bullshit meant for making unscrupulous spirit merchants richer ? So you are torn apart between the will not to upset the young person and the one to evade this silly ritual. To look like an antisocial boor or seriously jeopardise good digestion ?
			There is no better digestive drink than a good old cup of coffee. You politely decline the offer and get out of the room.

			Stupid or not, a tradition is a tradition. What's more, it is proposed so nicely. You take the glass to your lips.