Fried or Fertilized?

The plain fact of the matter is that there is no way to escape the crassness of the industry that I am in. It is not unique to our kitchen or to our school; it is recognized as a part of the culture all around. I don’t like it, I don’t approve of it, and due to Brad and Steve being very wonderful kuyas and flat-out refusing to explain any joke ever made by Chef Potter, a decent amount of it still goes over my head. Regardless, it is inescapable, and Receiving has been at the tame end of my experience.

So when the guys were just having one of their crasser moments during a lull in service, I turned a deaf ear, as is my custom, but when I heard my name…

“Don’t ask Ais that.”
“Yeah, no, I wouldn’t ask Ais that.”
“Wait, DO ask Ais that!”
“What??”
“Yeah, ask her how she likes her eggs.”
“But-”
“Just ask her.”

It took me a few seconds to comprehend the motivation behind Jason’s goading. “Tell him about the duck eggs,” I was instructed. It clicked.

“Yes! Ask me!!”

For that split second of utter confusion on Yards’ face, it was already worth it.

“Aisa… do you like your eggs fried or fertilized?”

Fertilized!” It was too good of an opening. Seriously, I owe Jason. I hope Yards recognized the deliberately attempted note of sheer madness in my voice. But if he didn’t, I think I can safely claim to have thoroughly grossed him out and left him slightly disturbed with my brief description of balut.

“Hang on, you’re ok with eating fetal ducks but you’re not ok with abortion? Are you ok with eating fetal humans??”

That got me ranting on aborted fetuses being used for ‘medicinal’ purposes in China. Somehow we eventually got back to fetal ducks, and how animals don’t go to heaven because animals don’t have souls.

“What makes you think they don’t have souls?”
“Oh, I know they don’t have souls.”
“How?”
“C’mon, ducks don’t have free will-”
“What’s free will?”

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