It had been three days since the children had eaten more than a few mouthfuls of beans from the last can she had salvaged out of the mini-mart. She knew she’d need to find more but this was not a time of abundance. The highways were choked with men like the ones who had taken the parents of the small brood she’d acquired. She was left to amble down country roads, three children whom she guessed now were hers following behind like ducklings.
In the three days since she opened the final can of beans she had seen the vast expanses of prairie yield to what had once been the manicured lawns of the suburbs before the Collapse. She worried about the children’s hunger, about the ravenous jaws of animals that had once been pets, about the men roving streets that once signaled safety. But still she continued. She had no choice. Those mouths trailing behind her would only get hungrier and she had heard there was still some semblance of what she remembered as civilization within the City, if she could only get to it.
Miss, one of her ducklings said. She didn’t let them call her Mama, even though the littlest sometimes slipped up. Who is that man? Panic struck her, but the little one was pointing at the graven image of a 55-foot-tall cowboy with a hat atop what remained of its head. She knew him, she thought. He’d had a name once.
They had arrived at the City, at a place she had once known as Fair Park. She led the children into a building as a refuge. We’ll sleep here, she told them. And I’ll look for supplies. She didn’t like to say “food” when she wasn’t sure there would be any. They each took a spot on the ground which was covered in dust and garbage. And then the oldest produced a pamphlet that was printed on glossy paper. Before she could stop him, the boy opened the pamphlet and began looking at the photos. None of the children could read, but she could make out the words on the front: Big Tex Choice Awards: 2024 Semi-Finalists. The children started turning the pages and she felt her own stomach rumble at the sight of the delicacies contained within.
Fat Bacon Pickle Fries
Miss, said the oldest. Is that food? Could you eat that? And she said yes because she promised herself she wouldn’t lie to the children. She looked at the slivered, battered, and fried pickles dusted with ranch-pepper seasoning, covered in queso, and topped with bacon, sour cream, jalapeños, and chives. Yes you could, she said. You surely could.
Deep Fried Crispy Vietnamese Crepes
She gasped when she saw them. She could still remember the taste of shrimp, the crunch of fresh vegetables back when such things grew in the fields. She could imagine those things being rolled into crepe batter like that of the bánh xèo her grandmother made when she was a child, and her brain fooled her senses into believing that she could smell them now. She imagined serving them to the children, imagined the delight on their faces as each bite brought flavorful surprises, introduced them to tastes they had never known. She turned the page.
Hammy Pimento Meltdown
Mama, the littlest one started, then corrected herself when the oldest shook his head. Miss, she said. Why are you crying? She stared at the image of a sandwich, its layers divided by grilled ham, cheese suppurating beyond the edges of the thick bread, and touched her eyes. She wasn’t one for nostalgia, nor dwelling on the past, but the image of the sandwich awakened in her a powerful feeling of loss. She remembered her promise to only tell the children the truth and then and there decided to break it. Because I’m happy, she said. Because you’re here with me. Because we’re safe.
Hot Chick-in-Pancake Poppers
Was it better to live with loss or to grow up in a world without much in the way of hope? She missed these extravagant, indulgent foodstuffs, or at least missed living in a world where they were possible. The children had never seen batter fried to a crisp golden brown before. They’d never had cheese mixed with pimentos and mayonnaise, nor pancakes rich with butter and maple syrup. They’d never had chicken that didn’t come from a can. She stared at the photo of the hand-breaded Nashville hot chicken topped with pimento cheese, dunked in pancake batter, and fried brown, and still she couldn’t decide if she envied or pitied the children for their ignorance.
Triple Meat Big Back Snack
Much of the country they’d traversed had once been ranchland but she never saw a cow on it. They’d been consumed in the early days, she figured. Pigs were another thing altogether, feral and menacing. Had she really grown to adulthood in a world where roasted street corn with lemon-garlic butter could be topped with beef brisket and macaroni and cheese, followed by a biscuit crowned with pork belly cubes, the entire thing served in a cup ringed with sausage and topped with potatoes flavored like waffles? Could such excesses have been accepted? She glanced at the children. Such a thing could feed all of them for a week. But she knew she’d never see its kind again.
Nutty Bar-laska
She turned the page again and they were on to the sweets. The children were huddled over her shoulders now, each straining to ensure they could glimpse the confections. Her stomach hurt at the cruelty of whatever absent gods led the little ones to this place. The sight of a chocolate-covered peanut butter ice cream bar rolled in peanuts, smothered in toasted marshmallow fluff, and adorned with whole Oreo cookies, freeze-fried strawberry pieces, and strawberry sauce did nothing to ease the discomfort in her belly. Just the opposite.
Strawberry Pop-Tarts® Beignetffle
Ooh, miss, the middle child, who’d been silent until now, gasped. That surely looks good. He knew this to be similar to the Pop-Tarts they’d salvaged from a pantry—though those, stale and crumbled, looked unlike what he gazed upon now. This one was made of beignet and croissant dough, the strawberry filling melding joyously with vanilla icing and heavy cream freshly whipped, dotted with colorful sprinkles. It does, baby, she found herself saying. She never called the children names like that, but something about the treat on the page before them brought it out of her. She placed a hand to her mouth as if to keep the affection she showed in, but she saw the boy beam at her, as starved for maternal warmth as he was. She knew she could not revoke her unintended kindness now. It does look good.
Cotton Candy Bacon on a Stick
The children all began seeking her affection, as though a levee had broken. She was not their mother, but what did they have besides her and one another? They did not have the gluttonous delicacy they saw on the page: half-inch-thick bacon impaled on a stick and sizzled on a griddle, dipped in glaze, and placed within spun sugar until the flavors fused together in a combination of sweet and savory that made her ache. She looked at it one time more and then turned the page before they asked her questions.
Tropical Two-Step Punch
What happened to that water? the youngest asked as she pointed at the photograph in the pamphlet, her eyes wide. That’s not water, she said, then corrected herself. Well, it is. It just has flavors in it. And sugar too. It had citrus and passionfruit and mango, she read, but she didn’t tell the child this. Those were words that would have no meaning to one who had never tasted those things. The little one’s eyes grew wide nonetheless. Is it safe to drink? she asked. The woman nodded and caught the longing in the girl’s gaze. It was, sweet pea, she said. It would have tasted good.
Whole Bundt of Kisses
She grew weary of yearning for foods she would never again taste, of remembering the world that was. She began to close the pamphlet but the oldest placed a calm hand on the page, longing for another moment of imagining the world into which the woman had been born. The children stared at a Bundt cake fried, filled with chocolate, and topped with crumbled chocolate chip cookies, powdered sugar, Hershey’s Kisses, whipped cream, and glittering silver sprinkles, compounded into a confection the likes of which would have seemed improbable even in the before times. She let their gaze linger.
When she stood, she glanced at the corner of the room and saw a box of beef jerky. It was still sealed, and she wept again. The children would taste a piece of the old world after all. And so would she.
