Taft 2012 - Jason Heller [40]
“Scratch?” Castro spat the word. “Mr. President, please! Nothing at Atomizer is made from scratch. That’s our whole philosophy and branding strategy! With all due respect, old buddy, we’re living in the twenty-first century. ‘From scratch’ is a quaint and outmoded notion. Atomizer is all about engineering the engineered, manipulating the manipulated. Processing the processed.”
Kowalczyk sat with his arms crossed. “Any chance I could get a burger?”
Castro snapped his fingers again. “A burger! Of course. Phillip?”
Half a minute later, a sandwich arrived and was placed before Kowalczyk. “This is the world-famous Atomizer, the very burger our restaurant is named after. Please, enjoy.”
Kowalczyk stared at his plate. Sitting there, steaming and sweating, was some object that roughly resembled a hamburger. He picked up his fork and lifted one end of what might have been the top bun. Instead of a patty of meat, the bottom bun held a mess of wet confetti that stank of death and ketchup.
“Allow me to explain,” said Castro. “We don’t use anything as conventional as ground beef in our Atomizer. What you see before you is a chemically formulated, aerated amalgam of beef, cheese, and toppings. Would you like a little more?” Before waiting for an answer, he turned to Phillip and said, “Let’s make this a Double Atomizer for Mr. Kowalczyk here!”
Phillip left and hurried back with an unlabeled aerosol can. He lifted the top bun of Kowalczyk’s burger, shook the can, aimed it, and pressed the nozzle. Out flew a slurry of burger-matter that landed on the bun like some brownish, curdled, flesh-scented snow.
Kowalczyk coughed. “Well, ah, that’s something else, I’ll give you that. And I’d love to try it. But, you know, I’m a vegetarian.”
“Since when are you—” Taft started to protest, but Kowalczyk kicked him into silence under the table.
Castro winked at him. “There’s the beauty of it: the meat and cheese we use is so processed, before and after we receive it here in the kitchen, that the FDA has qualified our food as legally vegan! Granted, the government has some pretty loose definitions of words like vegan, organic, and natural. And hopefully it’ll stay that way, assuming Mr. Fulsom has his way.”
“Fulsom?” Taft’s stomach lurched at the name. “The TurkEase manufacturer?”
“Yes! The one and the same. We have an exclusive contract with Gus Fulsom. In fact, he’s one of the silent partners here at Atomizer. Everything on our menu is made from Fulsom-brand products. It’s funny you should mention TurkEase. That’s what I was mixing up when you came in. The Atomizer buns are made of it—not wheat, but turkey byproducts!”
Taft and Kowalczyk traded pained glances, memories of their disastrous TurkEase Thanksgiving swimming up into the backs of their throats.
“See,” Castro went on, munching on Kowalcyzk’s untouched Atomizer, “Fulsom supplies the most processed foods we can get a hold of, and at a significant discount. In return, we help counter some of the stigma against processed food in general—and what better way than by reimagining it as haute cuisine! In essence, we’re doing something very noble here. And do you know what that is?”
Taft gulped. “Keeping this stuff off the streets?”
“No, Mr. President,” he said, his mouth full and his eyes narrow. “We’re extracting purity. Purity from corruption.”
“Purity from corruption? Pardon me for laughing, but I know a good many politicians who have said, in essence, the same thing. And they were all snakes.”
“Well, I can assure you, Mr. President, that Gus Fulsom is no snake. In fact, you should meet him someday. Who knows? You two might even have more in common than you realize.” Castro let his words hang in the air before calling over Phillip one last time. “Box up a couple more Atomizers for Mr. Taft and his friend! And throw in a couple plates of Nacho Roe and Salmon S’mores.”
Castro rose from his seat and jabbed his thumb toward the other end of the kitchen. “In any case, I have to