I
felt like having a pizza for dinner tonight. I still had some
leftover spaghetti sauce from last week and a few tins in the fallout
shelter. The surplus cheese was holding out and a moldy onion was
battling a cockroach under the sink. When the air raid sirens had
first banished us to our bunkers, what was it? Three months ago now?
How it seems like an eternity! I had wanted to do some baking, but
the state controlled markets were always out of something; toilet
paper one day, Victory cigarettes another; and on my recent trek to
the commissary it had been yeast.
The
good news was that I still had one packet of Victory yeast in
storage, the bad news was that I only had one packet in storage. And
who knew when that commodity would be back on the shelves? I still
had a ration of flour, a portion of which I risked with my precious
packet of yeast and a cup of water and made my own starter. I was
sure to do it while in the only corner of my apartment unavailable to
the Siriscreen, since such exhibitions of independence are considered
uncouth and treason against the Party, who provides for our every
need. It’s also where I keep the forbidden journals I am recording
in now. I keep them under a floorboard next to the skeleton of the
previous tenant. I only ever knew him as ‘Mad Winston.’
It
thrilled me, committing this simple act of using a few ingredients to
create more food, like a common deploretariat. Oddly, yeast has
remained unavailable in the stalls all these months. Flour is
sporadically available, so I have been able to have some quaint home
baked item about once a week thanks to my self-regenerating starter:
A pizza here, Eurasian Muffins there. I am becoming a regular
Deplor!
Today
it was back to pizza, I hardly even acknowledge the Siri-screen, or
Google Sister, Cortana for that matter, anymore. Such reckless
revolution at the rotisserie! I still maintain my frugality-for the
Party, you know. Usually I eat only half of whatever I make and leave
the rest for the next day. I suppose I should be just throwing it
away and buying more, in the interest of the Company. But I can’t
bring myself to discard something as precious as food, especially
when I prepare it, and partially grow it, myself. Maybe that’s what
the Deplors call self-worth. It’s an unsettling concept, yet one to
which I am almost viscerally attracted. I can see why it is
considered dangerous.
I
have been growing quite the rebel! I realized today that I did not
have to cook a whole pizza and only eat half of it. There was another
way I could rebel against dependency. After decanting some of the
starter into a bowl and adding fresh flour, water, salt, and oil, I
could divide it in two and save the uncooked dough for later like I
would otherwise save one half of an already cooked pizza. This way I
wouldn’t have to eat it tomorrow since it would keep and then still
transform into a fresh pizza on my demand even several days later.
Such innovations are extraordinary. Prepare, but cut in half before
cooking.
"That
must be the geometry that genius man, Euclid, was talking about!"
I shouted in my enthusiasm.
“Euclid
was a woman!” drilled the Seriscreen.
“And
she was a person of rainbow colors!” shouted Cortana.
“And
I expect you to return to work tomorrow!” Chirped Alexa. “For the
good of the Company!”
I’ll
remember that at the next two minutes virtue-signal when we’re
venting against-which enemy are we fighting? Oceania or Eastasia? I
thought it was Airstrip One now. Or is that who we are? I forget. The
memory hole is digital.
Never
mind. Julia, pass the Victory Gin, would you?
