Page 8 of Radar (Iniquus Certified Cerberus Tactical K9 #2)

Elyssa

Tuesday

Paris, France

“Eddie!” Elyssa raised her hand and waved it excitedly.

“Here we are,” she sang out, standing as he approached to give him a hug.

“Yay, that you were able to join us.” She turned to the elderly man, pushed back from the table to make room for his copious girth, and held open her palm.

“Eddie Baylor, please meet my uncle, Orest Kalinsky.”

“The famous Uncle Orest.” Eddie’s hand shot out for a shake. “How do you do, Mr. Kalinsky?”

“I’m delighted for meeting Elyssa’s dear friend, finally.

Sit. Sit. I am not Mr. Kalinsky. I am Uncle Orest,” he said with a pat to his chest. Uncle Orest waited while Eddie dragged out a chair and settled before pulling Eddie into the conversation.

“As we look at menus, I speak to Elyssa about newest gastronomical fashion in Paris. They call it ‘sustainable low-waste dining.’ What they mean is portions for toddlers, and much of it is raw. This is not for me. I prefer traditional French cooking. You will find menu here very good.”

“Butter.” Elyssa handed Eddie a menu. “What Uncle Orest prefers is copious amounts of butter.”

“Butter makes life worth living.” Uncle Orest moved his hand down to rest on his rotund stomach.

“I say this to my doctor. He tells me, ‘Orest, eat new Parisian style, and you will live a long life.’ And I say back, ‘Without butter, life is not worth living.’” He looked pointedly at Elyssa.

“And chocolate. But I feel sure that you will find solution to this problem.”

Eddie smiled as he scanned the menu. “I have to agree with Uncle Orest about the butter. Last night,” he popped his head up to catch Elyssa’s gaze, “Yum. Can I just say Yuuum!” he sing-songed.

“So, so yum. I had fish simmered in butter.” He focused on Uncle Orest. “I called my fiancé Ben, from the dining table, to regale him with the decadence and the delicacy. I believe I could live my whole life eating that for dinner every night.” Eddie turned back to Elyssa.

“Benny, poor thing, was spreading peanut butter onto sad, stale bread. What is it that they say? Give a man a fish, and he eats for the day. Teach a man to fish, and he eats for a lifetime. Same goes here, but with cooking. Ben definitely prefers that I give him a fish cooked and on a plate with sides rather than teaching him how to cook the fish himself, so he always has a decent meal. So, while I don’t feel bad about his PBJ,” Eddie smiled, “I did promise him I’d do my best to recreate the recipe when I get home.

Meunièr e , they called it.” He shut the menu and rested it on his lap.

“Though I’m butchering the pronunciation. ”

“Ah, butter and lemon,” Uncle Orest nodded with enthusiasm.

“This, this is a man worth knowing. We will be friends.” He tapped his fingers on Eddie’s sweater-clad arm.

“I feel that I know you already. I hear many stories about you and your adventures with Elyssa.” He wagged his finger at Eddie.

“Some of these adventures I am very glad I didn’t know about until afterward. You had her on back of rodeo bull?”

Elyssa leaned in. “He’s talking about the mechanical bull contest when we were in Dallas.”

Eddie grinned. “She put the cowboys to shame.”

“Very dangerous, I think.” Uncle Orest gathered his napkin and pulled it across his lap. “But I forgive you because you take care of my Elyssa when she gets sick there—COVID, such terrible virus—and got her home again when she cannot get on plane.” He shook his head. “How many hours of driving?”

“Ben and I tag-teamed the drive, so it wasn’t that long,” Eddie said.

“It took us around twenty hours with gas breaks and fast food, wearing N95s the entire time while I moaned in the back seat. They are saints,” Elyssa said from behind her menu.

“For this, I agree.” Uncle Orest held Eddie’s gaze.

“Family is of utmost importance to me. Family of the blood as well as family that we meet on our paths.” He tapped his chest. “I consider you to be my family. It is one thing to do a day’s service; it is another to stay beside Elyssa for weeks and months when she was trying to figure out the lingering illness after COVID.

As you well understand, this has been a long and difficult road for Elyssa.

But now we know what’s wrong and can best support her.

” Uncle Orest leaned closer and said earnestly, “This is a gift you have given our family and a debt that I cannot repay.”

“It was just a normal thing to do.” Eddie’s face pinked. “Elyssa and I have had each other’s backs since undergrad.”

“You’ve decided what you want?” Elyssa asked, hoping to change the subject. Eddie was the kind of golden friend who would do anything for you, and also the kind of humble person who hated his kind nature being spotlighted.

“I saw they have fish meunière,” Eddie said.

“You’ve tried this while in Paris, Elyssa?

” Uncle Orest asked. Without waiting for her to reply, Uncle Orest lifted a finger into the air to signal the server, adding, “You must have it. We all shall. Butter will make us all feel satisfied with life. Full and happy, who could want more?” As the server approached, he said, “Les menus of meunière,” he held up two fingers and a thumb in the French style of signaling three, “and whichever wine the chef believes will enhance the flavors best.”

“Les menus” indicated the multi-course meal, from appetizer to dessert, designed by the chef so that all the tastes complemented each other. It was one of the things Elyssa liked best about choosing a meal in France. She picked up the menus and handed them off with a “thank you.”

“So, what is this chocolate problem that Elyssa needs to solve? Something to do with her big project?” Eddie leaned back, settling in for the conversation.

Elyssa laughed. “Eddie has been trying to wiggle information out of me since I started the Carpathian Foundation’s project. I told him that your research recipients can’t discuss their projects in advance of the papers going to peer review.”

“And she’s a vault,” Eddie frowned. “Elyssa hasn’t shared a thing other than that it has something to do with advancing her doctoral project.”

“Yes, well, if you don’t mind,” Uncle Orest said, leaning slightly to the side to allow the server to set a bottle of still and a bottle of sparkling water on the table.

“I would very much like to hear about your research, Eddie. Elyssa says to me that you have a machine that produces 3D-printed meat.”

“That’s right. After a biopsy from a live animal,” Eddie stretched a hand wide and swept it through the air, “we never again need to use an animal. Ever. The cells are lab-grown.”

Elyssa swept her long blonde hair over to one side and held it in her fist as a gust of wind blew in when a patron held the restaurant door wide.

“Though, I’ll add that there’s a huge emotional component to Eddie’s research.

Granted, there are a lot of big-agro businesses involved in meat production, and I don’t care about corporate feelings.

I’m concerned with ranches owned and operated for generations and families where that’s a way of life. ”

“Given the last polling that we did on consumer desire to eat printed meat,” Eddie reached for the still water bottle and lifted it, waiting for Uncle Orest and then Elyssa to nod their ascent before pouring out three glasses, “I’d say we’re not going to be putting anyone out of business for at least a generation.

” He lifted each glass and set it in front of his tablemates.

“I figure we’ll have our niche market—restaurants, for example, where the consumer has no idea they’re eating printed meat—and eventually the ick factor will die down. ”

“Muscle is lab-grown,” Uncle Orest qualified. “But what kind of meat would this be? It would be too lean, even worse than ostrich for leanness.”

“We can 3D print fat as well. The medium for printing is simply lab-grown fat cells. So, imagine how you might print a plastic object in 3D. All you’re doing is shaping the object out of a material.

In this case, fat cells and meat cells—there’s a little more to it, but I’m putting this in its most simplistic terms—are arranged by the printer to correspond with the shape and the marbling that is perfect for the desired cut of meat.

” Eddie’s posture shifted, moving from relaxed to animated with the change of topic.

“On each machine, there’s a selection the consumer would press—ribeye, T-bone, filet mignon, and so on. ”

Uncle Orest clapped his hands together. “Marvelous. Fat is everything to taste and mouth feel. Both are extremely important to a satisfying meal.” Uncle Orest lifted his chin. “But how does this taste your printed meat?”

“Once the meat is printed, then it’s aged, allowing the flavors to develop,” Eddie explained.

“In side-by-side taste comparisons— if our panelists weren’t told that one of the pieces of meat was lab-produced—the traditional meat and lab meat are indistinguishable.

That’s true when we present the meat to chefs.

They have no idea that it’s printed and not the variety already available from the butcher. ”