Jamie had nurtured it for months, even named it after his Pa, who had told him it was gonna be the best damn prize-winning cow in the state! Then, the day before his twelfth birthday, his father took it away, said it was going to some “laughter house” or something. Jamie thought back to the anguish and the hurt of having something you love stolen by someone else; no one ever thought of what slaughtering that cow did to Jamie. But he put it out of his mind and concentrated on the job in hand: injecting the triple burger with his own secret sauce. He stared down at the brown piece of meat, feeling the weight of the culinary syringe in his hand. Jamie took careful aim and lanced the very core of the burger. It convulsed, expanded and then lay there oozing its juices before also being tossed into the frying pan. After a brisk two minutes he flipped it out, trapped it in a bun, added the cheese and consigned it to the low-heat oven to keep it warm. Finally, it was all ready. He arranged the mountain of food neatly on the tray and added his signature touch: a single white lily in a thin, white vase. There was no waiter at hand to serve the meal. It was Jamie who began the long walk across the thirty-two feet of yard. The sand gave slightly under his feet; he felt the hot sun on his face. Staring up at the square window of blue sky, feeling the cool breeze on his face, Jamie trudged on towards the large cast-iron door. The tray felt heavy and he could smell the sickly scent of peanut-butter fudge with crushed peanuts. He thought about what he would say to his diner; what could you say to a man like that? ‘Bon appetit’ hardly seemed appropriate. On the other hand, it was not his place to condemn. It was God’s job to pass judgement on this man – Jamie’s job was just to cook the best meal he could. There was a pause while the door was unlocked. He walked along
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