Blatta Platter

Danny Sagoo saw the dead roach before the inspector but could do nothing. He watched Tong’s eyes move in that direction, running along the skirting-board before alighting on the dead insect.

“Ah, hah! Exclaimed Tong with seeming delight, as if he already knew what he would find.
Danny’s heart plunged as Tong brought out his briefcase and placed it on the work surface.

“Mr. Tong, sir, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where it came from. I’ve never had any trouble with roaches before.”

“I’m sorry too Mr. Sagoo,” smiled Tong as he brought out a pair of latex gloves from his briefcase, “but you must understand the need for hygiene.”

“Yes, yes, but please, I have put everything I have into this restaurant. My wife, my children, they have all made sacrifices. Please cannot you pretend you did not see.”

The inspector raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Sagoo, I take my work very seriously. It would be impossible for me to sleep at night if I were to overlook this.” He crouched down with a pair of tweezers and removed the insect from the floor then dropped the corpse into a polythene pouch. “Now I have to look for droppings.”

“Droppings? Why you need droppings? Have you not enough to put me out of business already?”

“Believe me Mr. Sagoo, I take no pleasure whatsoever in closing you down, that is not my aim,” beamed Tong from his position near the floor. “I need the droppings to establish that the insect was alive at one time and therefore capable of spreading germs.”

A dejected Danny sighed. “What happens now?” he asked, dreading the confirmation of what he already knew.

“Well,” began Tong cheerily, having found what he wanted and regaining his feet, “I’ll be recommending that the restaurant be closed down forthwith.”

“No, please. I’ve only been open twelve months, and there is so much competition… such a slow start… I’m just beginning to build a reputation.”

“And that’s when you started cutting corners, isn’t it? Mr. Sagoo, if you were as meticulous at your job as I am in mine this need never have happened,” said Tong as he removed his gloves. He snapped his case shut and picked it up. “You’ll receive confirmation in the post within the next few days. Well, goodbye and have a nice day. I’ll be seeing you soon no doubt.” He held out a hand and Danny shook it limply. Tong turned and left the restaurant.

Danny sat on a stool and held his head in his hands. It had taken everything, this business, a gamble. A gamble which he had been on the verge of winning, now this.

Danny was almost willing to concede defeat.

He surveyed his newly refurbished kitchen with pride. He picked up the menu and smiled at the new addition. What genius and all from his own mind!
Tong arrived on time and Danny greeted him with sickening enthusiasm.

“Mr. Tong, Mr. Tong! My new kitchen, you like?”
Tong did a quick scan and sniffed. “All appears well on the surface but one only has to scratch…”

“Please sir, let us not be starting off on the wrong foot.”

“For me Mr. Sagoo there is no wrong foot, there is only ever the right one.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Now, before you start work let me offer you a meal, on the house. Look, I’ve prepared a new menu.” Danny snatched it up and held it out for approval.

“I could not possibly. The kitchen is yet to pass inspection.”

“But sir, as you wouldn’t be paying and the restaurant is not yet open you would not be breaking any rules.”

The aroma of Indian cuisine bubbling away was very persuasive as Tong pressed his rumbling stomach. He smiled. “Very well, so long as you aren’t trying to curry my favour.”

Danny gave a convincing laugh as if he had never heard the tired pun before.

“In fact,” the inspector continued, “to show you received no favoritism my inspection will be all the more thorough.”

Danny groaned inwardly, what a total bastard, he thought. “Please try a new dish I’ve added to the menu.” He pointed at it.

“Blatta Platter? What the devil is it?”

“It is from the same family as prawn or shrimp I believe. Blatta is its Latin name.”

Tong looked at his watch. “OK, but be quick, I have a schedule to keep.”

Tong swept up the last of the sauce with a piece of naan bread. He pushed back his chair and stood, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow with a napkin.

“Thank you Mr. Sagoo, that was very good. The prawn had a very unusual texture - strangely crunchy. And what tiny little creatures they were too. Now, back to work I’m afraid.”

He laid his briefcase on the table and took out his latex gloves as he looked around the kitchen. Stooping he picked up a slither of chicken meat. It was fresh so he put it aside. Then he began his examination of the work surfaces. Danny watched Tong’s eyes widen as they fell on the two dead insects.

“Is this joke? I have just eaten here and what do I find? This, Mr. Sagoo is absolutely disgusting!”

“Please Mr. Tong, it is alright. They are clean, freshly prepared and cooked this morning. There are no droppings anywhere. Take a look around.”

“What in God’s name do you mean, ‘freshly boiled?’ You’re not making sense,” asked Tong angrily.

“Your meal, the one I prepared for you, you did enjoy it?”

“What? The Blatta thing… but you said it was prawn!” yelled Tong, his usually pink cheeks now dough white.

It was Danny’s turn to smile. “No, no. I said it was of the prawn family. Blatta is the Latin word for cockroach.”

Tong was bending over, spewing his meal out on to the kitchen floor, spinning in circles like a wildebeest with an ear infection.
Danny watched the blatta platter splatter his beautiful clean tiles. “Such a waste Mr. Tong!”

“Urrgh!” heaved Tong one more. He straitened and wiped his chin on a crisp clean handkerchief. “You’ll be sorry for that, I assure you. I’ll make sure you’re closed down indefinitely.” He stamped his foot in temper. “And… and… I’ll tell The Courier.” His face twisted into a spiteful grin.
Danny raised an eyebrow. “The currier?”

Danny walked around the full restaurant. It had been full every night for months now thanks to Mr. Tong. On the wall was a picture of Danny beneath the restaurant’s neon sign, a picture taken from The Daily Stun. Next to it was a framed enlargement of a label from a jar of ‘Danny’s Famous Blatta Platter.’

Who would have ever imagined that a restaurateur’s greatest enemies could become on of its greatest friends thought Danny.

The phone jangled against the background of the diners’ mangled conversations. He went over to the bar and picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he sing-songed, “The Blatta Platter restaurant, how can we help you? A table for two for seven o’clock Tuesday. Name? Mr. Tong! Certainly sir, for you, on the house!”