The Sommelier

Douglas sighed to himself and muttered “That’s definitely the last time I trust a badger sommelier.”

Which seemed a shame, he thought, as it had also been the first time. With hindsight, it seemed obvious that his expectations should have been lower; however his marinated var salmon with lemon and vodka jelly, prepared by the racoon chef de partie, had been delicious. It just didn’t pair well with the South Island Viognier that had been recommended.

This was ridiculous. It was ridiculous that he chided himself as the badger (sommelier) trundled away with her head hanging low, having heard Douglas’ muttering. It was ridiculous that his hors-d’oeuvre had been perfect. It was ridiculous that the maître d’ was a marsupial, who was now approaching his table.

“Is everything alright, sir?” it said. It spoke perfect English (at least, to Douglas’ ears) with just the hint of a French laminate; a softened ‘sing’ rather than a harsh ‘thing’. This was, of course, completely ridiculous.

Douglas was let down by his brain’s attention, which was now dedicated to the task of working out exactly which type of marsupial was addressing him; and to a lesser degree, how on earth it had tied it’s shoelaces.

“I’m sorry, yes. It’s all fine.” He lied. Then, in attempt to make it feel more authentic, he added a smile which he quickly realised was having the opposite effect, so he stopped.

The undetermined marsupial smiled, nodded politely, and turned away. Douglas took a long sip of water, and gazed around the room. Most of the tables were occupied. A wide variety of animals were enjoying various stages of their haute-cuisine dinners. Each time Douglas had tried to focus on one specific detail, for example how a hippopotamus could use a soup-spoon so delicately, it became fuzzy and difficult to concentrate upon. The harder he focussed, the hard it was to understand what he was seeing, so eventually he gave up and ate some more salmon.

This made him think. Picking up the menu, he scanned it to see if there were any dishes that he recognised, and any that jumped out at him. Sure enough, half-way down the list of main courses, was a roast saddle of rabbit with crispy potatoes and parmesan. He looked up towards a table in the centre of the large dining room where a trilby-wearing chameleon was dining with a chestnut-furred lop-eared rabbit.

“How does that even work?” He said, before realising he’d said it out loud, and had accidentally summoned the maître d’ back to the table.

“How does what work, sir?” Said the large-eared marsupial, looking over Douglas’ shoulder at the menu.

“Oh, I was just wondering,” he started, inadvertently gesturing to the rabbit’s dining table. “Er… how that…” he tailed off, struggling to think fast enough. The kind pity in the large eyes of the Maître d’ was distracting.

“Er, about the- the- chameleon’s hat.” There, thought Douglas. That’s fine.

The Maître d’ followed Douglas’ gaze to the table in the centre of the room, and sighed before turning back to Douglas.

“Chameleon, sir?”

The Maitre d’ gave an almost imperceptible chuckle.

“That’s Mr Luca de Vries, one of the co-owners of this establishment. I’m not sure where his hat is from, but I can put in an enquiry for you, if you like?”

“Well, yes, thank you. If you think, they’ll…” Douglas tailed off again. He had no interest in the hat, or where it was from. He had even less interest in obtaining one for himself, but the hole he was digging for himself was beginning to feel like home.

“Think what, sir?”

“Well.” Douglas stopped somewhat finally, feeling that he’d already successfully conveyed his meaning. On second thought, he realised he was far from it. “I mean, do they do hats…” he struggled to find the words that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot. “Hats… for people like me?”

“People like you, sir?”

“Yes.”

The Maître d’ looked like someone who prided themselves in maintaining composure at all times, but the smile was straining now and cracks appearing. She left a pause, and Douglas was under no illusion that he was meant to fill it.

“Human.”

The Maître d’ visibly relaxed, and was overcome with the feeling he gets when finding out that a terrible accident wasn’t his fault after all. On seeing this reaction, Douglas instantly felt like an idiot.

“I’ll get you some more water, sir.” Said the Maître d’ as she scurried away.

Douglas finished his salmon and wondered if there were any salmon patrons of the restaurant, and again wondered how that would work. Looking at his glass, he realised he’d also finished the wine, and rather fancied another. He looked around for the sommelier before remembering that he couldn’t trust his opinion, so looked instead for the wine list. He was disappointed to find out that the sommelier had taken this with him.

‘Do you know where you are?’ a thought wandered through the back of his mind. He tried to dismiss it, shaking his head. ‘Look around you. These are animals.’ the thought continued. He tried to remember what he’d ordered for his main course, and wondered if the coq au van would be served by an actual chicken.

He realised he’d distracted himself again, and tried once more to remember what he’d ordered for his main course. When that memory wasn’t forthcoming, he tried to remember how he’d arrived at the restaurant. Nothing. Further back, then. What time was it? Was he here for lunch or dinner? What had he eaten for breakfast? Had he brushed his teeth?

There were no windows in the dining room, and the main doors opened into a wider foyer from where you couldn’t see the front door. The lighting was universal, and rather too bright, so there were no clues for Douglas to tell him what time it was.

Douglas began to realise that the first thing, almost the only thing, he could remember, was ordering wine from a sommelier who also happened to be a badger.