Page 98 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“Fine. Keep your secrets, Gideon Walker.”
“I believe this place is modeled after a similar museum in Sweden,” he tells me. “It’s supposed to be a multi-sensory immersive experience.”
A small sign on the front door poses the question,Are you an adventurous eater?
Yes, I am, I silently answer. This museum is right up my alley. Honestly, Gideon couldn’t have selected a more perfect place for a first date.
“Welcome to The Unique Food Museum!” booms the man behind the counter in a strong Australian accent. His broad grin almost blinds me with its enthusiasm. He’s wearing a black T-shirt withThe Unique Food Museumemblazoned in bright green lettering across his chest. “My name is Brian. Did you make a booking?”
“We did.” Gideon gives him our names.
“Too easy.” Brian carries on talking while his fingers fly across the keyboard. “The museum has foods and delicacies from all corners of the globe. We give visitors an awesome, interactive way to experience other cultures through food.”
I smile at him, swept up in his enthusiasm. “How do you do that?” I ask curiously. “Do you have plastic replicas of international dishes?”
I’m thinking ofSampuru, the hyper-realistic plastic reproduction of dishes that’s been elevated to an art form in Japanese culinary culture.
“Nope. It’s the real deal here.” He prints out two labels with our names, slaps them onto two paper bags, and presents them to us with a flourish. “These beauties are your tickets.”
The bags look oddly familiar.
Gideon frowns. “Are these...vomit bags?”
“Bingo!” Brian confirms eagerly, looking like he’s itching to print out a star sticker and slap it on Gideon’s forehead as a reward. “Affectionately known asbarf bagshere.”
Now I recognize them. They’re airplane-style sick bags.
“Is this a joke?” Gideon demands.
Brian wags a lighthearted finger. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one, mate.”
Judging from Gideon’s grim expression, though, it might just be the last time he’ll hear it ever again.
Gideon continues to stare down Brian, who starts to shift uncomfortably. “Uh, no, sir, it’s not a joke. The bags serve a double purpose. Admission and, uh, if you feel like you’re gonna spew, they come in handy.”
I spot a chalkboard sign on the wall behind Brian. It reads,3 days since the last vomit. My eyes are wide when I nudge Gideon with my elbow and draw his attention to the sign. We both watch as a museum worker walks up to the sign, erases the3and replaces it with0.
Brian turns and grins. “Ah, yeah, scoreboard’s up to date now. Looks like we had a sensitive one today. Probably had a big lunch too. Which I hope you guys didn’t. Anyway, the museum’s record is five vomits in one day, which—”
Gideon holds up a hand to quiet him. Brian shuts up, even though I can see it nearly kills him to do so. Talking appears to be his default state.
“What. Exactly. Is. This. Museum?” asks Gideon.
Undeterred by Gideon’s brusqueness, Brian lights up.So glad you asked!is written all over him. “The museum is aimed at showcasing and educating the public about some of the most disgusting and dangerous foods in the world.” The growing horror on our faces seems to loosen his tongue further. “I suggest starting in the exhibition area, where we have about fifty dishes on display. From there, you’ll head to the different smelling stations, give those nostrils a real workout. Then, when you’re good and ready, make your way to the tasting bar, where there are about ten food samples to challenge your tastebuds.” He beams. “That’ll conclude your tour.” He gives us a cocky wink. “Hopefully you won’t land up on the board. I’ll write your number there myself if you end up upchucking.”
“Thank you, Brian,” I say, when Gideon looks too dazed to reply. “You’ve been very informative.”
“No worries. You two enjoy yourselves!”
A line is quickly forming behind us. I grab Gideon’s arm and tug him away to a quiet corner. The deep frown on his face tells me he’s still processing everything. I give him the time he needs. At last, he says, “This is not what I was expecting.”
“Gideon,” I say carefully, “who told you about this place?”
“Tess.”
My mouth drops open. “You took Tess’s recommendation?”
Realization dawns on his face. “You think she did this on purpose?”
