'In The Uncharted Territory of Haute Cuisine' by Sravanthi Challapalli

He had waited so much for this road trip. Two delicious weeks of sightseeing and eating some of the food he had only heard about so far. 

His daughter was playing spoilsport, refusing to eat anything but rice and curry, and barely any restaurant in the Europe they were driving through served any. Somewhere in Germany, they at last found a plate of rice, but it was cold, and the brat refused to eat it. He protested, she cried and his wife shushed him when he said they were on a budget. He had had to eat it. The little wretch, all of seven, had made him buy four skeins of wool at some store they had visited earlier. Why, he had no idea. She didn’t do anything but stick her head in a book all the time. Well, they were in France, and he was looking forward to its famous cuisine. 

All these years later in 2024, he was looking at that Seventies’ black-and-white picture. Her, her mother and him, sitting around a table gleaming with fine cutlery. Her eyes were wide, almost goggling. He had the same eyes — and the same expression. His wife was smiling into her plate.

He had ordered the fish. To his horror, it arrived staring at him. He had never had fish that way! It had always been served in unthreatening, faceless fillets or gravied chunks. The waiter had chosen this moment to very kindly take a family picture. He had done a good job of capturing father and daughter’s shock. Would they fuss if he returned it? He had risen to the challenge. He took a paper napkin and covered the fish’s face. Then he began to slice it off with his fork and knife.