Preparing of the World's Deadliest Dinner

As I watched snow begin to fall outside the kitchen window, I hastily cleaned up wherever and whatever I could with the restaurant finally empty. Working at the restaurant has been exhausting all weekend long and I could really take some well earned time to unwind; I needed to make it home soon in case this was just the calm before the sudden snow storm. Just as I was washing my cutlery, a group of five entered with a ‘ding’ from the front door.

The five were quite lively, unusually high-spirited despite the hour. I could tell they were tourists by the ludicrous amount of camera equipment on their persons and their blatant struggles with reading our menu. I, unlike their carefree nature, stood still and silent in anticipation of their order. From the moment they came in, I knew what they’d request, and I dreaded its arrival.

Sure enough, they desired our full course Fugu meal. I knew it. Of all the dishes we have on offer, and they choose the one that requires the greatest time commitment and the utmost attention in my fatigued state. Blasphemy to think I might have been able to get off early for once. Best I get started, can’t keep the customer waiting.

I grabbed a fresh tiger blowfish from the back, flailing about not too dissimilar to my emotional state. I stunned the fish with a swift and direct strike to its head, ceasing its erratic activity-a moment of clarity. I reluctantly tell myself to keep it together, taking one quick deep breath to continue with a clear mindset. I then began draining all its blood ever so carefully. I couldn’t help but watch the group for a moment, just as jovial and loud as when they first walked in. Drip. Their voices were booming given the acoustics of our barren restaurant, I could make out their conversation on what they accomplished today and plan on tackling tomorrow. Drip. One of them started banging on our table after a relatively mundane remark, clearly they’ve been drinking, must be nice. Drip. I can see the snow picking up. Drip. There are over 3,800 Fugu restaurants in all of this country and they had to pick this one? I’m drained.

Next was remove the mouth and cut around from there to slowly peel the skin off. I once again glanced back at the five who now had their eyes fixated on me. I began slicing off each of the Fugu’s fins. My arms began to jitter. I removed the eyes. Their volume has noticeably decreased, what were they saying, what did I do to suddenly get their attention? I made proper incisions to allow for the mouth and began elegantly stroking along the body beneath the skin to remove it. They’re far too ignorant to even comprehend the importance of every action I take in this recipe, why bother paying attention like they’re grading me? Are they judging me? Do they think I’m incapable? Do they honestly think they know me, let alone the skills required to perform such a dangerous procedure?

Now came the most crucial step, separating the fillet portion from the rest of the Fugu to be used in the latter half of the meal. I refrained from acknowledging the group again. I needed to be keen in my precision here, one wrong cut to the ovaries or liver could result in infecting the product with toxin. As I began the final cut, I stopped myself at the sound of thundering tunes. Their music blared throughout the restaurant, accompanied by their incessant singing. This was downright mentally taxing. The sheer nerve of these people. I tried to drown them out to little avail, but I was determined to press onward and get this over with. One drop of its poison is enough to render my work inedible. All it takes is one wrong move.

Drip.

A bead of sweat had fallen from my brow, I watched its entire descentation towards the kitchen floor. I realized my emotions skyrocketed internally and got the best of me, I couldn’t in good conscience progress any further in my state. I made sure not to make a scene as a step away for a second, away from all my distractions.

I remembered all the way back to my very first year of training. I was very much a rookie, messing up on what I would now consider the simplest of techniques. Of course, my master hassled me viciously on the importance of perfecting my craft, but specifically stressing for me to focus on the sanctity of the customer over preparing the Fugu flawlessly. He taught me that I need to focus on fulfilling the customer’s desire to enjoy an exquisite meal paired with the daredevil nature surrounding the Fugu, for the true satisfaction of the patron as well as the chef. I still recall how his radiating smile resonated with me the first time I presented Fugu Sashimi before him.

Through recollecting my thoughts alone, I then became entirely focused on my skills without any outside interference clouding my mind. This is what I’ve trained for. So many years of perfecting my technique, I’ve forgotten my initial passion for this Herculean craft. My dedication to this expert practice should not waver even slightly until I’m clocked out. I must carry on, for the good of these rambunxious tourists and my integrity as a chef.

I made the final cut, effortlessly. What laid before me was the clean fillet to become the first course. I calmly and thinly sliced the fillet into even, petal shaped Sashimi. Each petal was carefully placed into an arrangement resembling the blossoming of a delicate flower, the artistic flare of the porcelain plate only enhancing its mesmerizing beauty. Ready for delivery.

I made my way over to the table with the Sashimi blossom and was met with immediate “Ooooohs,” “Aaaaahs,” and even an “OMG.” While most of their eyes were fixed on the alluring presentation, one of the five expressed to me “this is absolutely amazing, thank you!” Their words brought about a smile that could never be held back. The group’s direct appreciation for my craft made the commitment worth all the while, something I ought to keep in mind even when all seems hopeless. Reminded me of my master’s smile. No time to dwell on my thoughts, I needed to finish the rest of the Fugu course for these tourists to enjoy the complete experience. I forgot about the snow for the rest of my shift.

Metacognitive Reflection

This writing assignment involved the rewriting of a certain piece to better fit the genre of another, the goal to make the translated version practically indistinguishable from the original. For the purposes of my personal project, I took a recipe on the precise preparation of the toxic Fugu Sashimi and translated it into a dramatized, intense horror narrative. In order to properly deviate from the former, this translation needed to revamp the conventions of a typical recipe and integrate instead elements that better align with other horror entries.

Recipes are just as much a genre as any other work and have distinct conventions that make up its unique composition. A recipe’s appearance often takes the form of a list, formulaic in nature when including the essentials like the title being the product, the ingredients required to make the product, and the step-by-step approach to achieve the finished product in a straightforward manner. Recipes are written in the second person, quite declarative in tone by way of ordering specific instructions necessary to carry out when conducting the procedure described. The purpose behind recipes is to instruct the reader on the proper means to carry out the completion of a certain dish, the discourse community mostly composed of people who are not particularly antiquated when it comes to their expertise in the kitchen and a great tool for learning. What makes the Fugu recipe stand out from the rest comes down to the required skills to prepare such a dangerous dish. This recipe still follows the conventions mentioned above, but considering the difficulty of the dish, the intended audience is more geared toward cooking perfectionism, and this serves as training to master such a delicate and precise endeavor. In light of this, I wanted to devise an engaging fictional story around a recipe, one that was fitting of the dangerous nature of Fugu.

I translated this recipe into a genre that emphasizes the intensity of a horror narrative featuring a dramatic flare. The audience for this genre is often made up of thrill seekers fulfilling their desires to experience entertainment outside their daily lives through mediums like novels and theatrical releases. Being that the recipe genre is quite concise and devoid of external features, certain elements needed to be added within the piece to effectively translate. Introducing a centralized narrative helps engage the reader with the flow of the story and subsequently the recipe itself. This simple premise presented here works off of the chilling aspects in preparing Fugu with respect to the chef, much like how other horror works contain a basic plot encompassing a daunting premise that is built up throughout, making it easier for the reader to become all the more invested. The addition of a backstory in particular supplied integral information on chef’s origins to fully realize their arc in this short passage. By delving into the chef’s past, his true passion with the craft is revealed beyond the problems tormenting him earlier and fleshes out his character for a more compelling story. Switching from second person to first served to personalize the heartache that comes with performing such an advanced dish. Examining the chef from their perspective allows readers to build a solid rapport with them, relating the chef’s internal pain with their own struggles and thought processes undergone in those moments.

The graphic language riddled throughout this translation only adds to the haunting atmosphere of the scenario. Enhancing the specific step by step process with such explicit detail only furthers the intensity met with preparing Fugu. I also utilized choice wordplay thas a means to further amplify the extraordinarily fierce circumstances the narrative presents. I used the word “Drip” frequently in a specific portion of the passage to not only cleverly correlate the draining of the Fugu to the chef’s mental decline but to poetically illustrate the stress the chef is facing when dealing with such a precise task akin to the ticking of a bomb in a cliched bomb defusal scene. Utter catastrophe is looming and can go off at any moment, with the stand-alone “Drip” finishing off the page spelling uncertainty of what truly happened during the chef’s final actions coupled with his explosive state. This build up of tension is followed by my implementation of a litany of questions circling the chef’s mind. By including question after question, the chef is becoming more fixated on the obnoxious grievances brought on by the patrons and away from the Fugu, muddling his thought process on a job that undoubtedly requires his full devotion and thus escalates anxiety. All of these additional tropes are frequently utilized in the same manner within the horror genre, so their implementation here makes this translation accurate amongst other respective entries.

The primary challenge that I faced during this transformation of genres derived from inherently conceiving a revolving narrative to coincide with the retained recipe layout. Context, conflict, and resolution-factors that are otherwise entirely absent in recipes-were entirely made up. The recipe only contains the specific instructions needed to properly fillet the Fugu into Sashimi, so any and all details stemmed from the hysteria that has spurred due to the Fugu’s popularity and from my own imagination. I decided the best course of action would be to blend the overarching story alongside the recipe’s instructions. As the chef prepares the Fugu, the piece shifts focus away countless times more towards the chef’s headspace being bombarded by a flurry of emotions, outside forces impacting his physical performance. The chef’s cognitive state begins taking center stage as the piece continues, alluding to the chef’s frustrations getting the better of them and their loss of focus on the task at hand. With the dish being an incredibly precise procedure, removing this sense of professionalism from the preparation only magnifies the terrifying nature of this premise; imagine being served one the deadliest dishes by an individual who was in the midst of having a mental breakdown. Balancing an intense horror driven narrative with the rudimentary list of processes from the recipe was certainly difficult, but I believe this setup made for the most captivating product like how any work should in the genre.

In translating this recipe on Fugu, I now have a newfound understanding of how both the recipe and horror genres present themselves through their writing. Our previous work with WP1 certainly laid out the groundwork when it came to genre specific writing conventions, but actually taking part in writing the new piece myself provided better insight. Through adding a plethora of external features to my piece, I now have a firm grasp on the quintessential aspects necessary that make up a conventional horror work. And, by focusing simply on retaining the list-like element of recipes, I have effectively reduced the recipe genre down to its basic writing conventions. Both the writing projects I have written proficiently explored the proper analytical takes and perceptions needed to differentiate varying genres.

With these two genres starkly contrasting in terms of their conventional standards, this made for an arduous yet stimulating experience of an assignment. Something as basic as a recipe required major additional, conventional factors for a complete transformation from one genre to another, really requiring me to think outside the box and get creative with my work. Taking a look back at both pieces I can now solidly observe the distinct writing choices of both and how said choices each serve their own unique purposes for their respective genres.

Bibliography

Fleming, Amy. How to Prepare the World's Deadliest Dinner. The Guardian. Jan 28, 2009.

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2009/jan/29/blowfish-how-to-cook-japan