Only in America

When Shylock presented himself at the Immigration desk on arrival at New York’s JFK Airport, the ensuing interview proved to be quite enlightening. 

“Where are you from?” asked the official in charge.

“Venice”, said Shylock.

“Is that Venice New York, Venice Florida or Venice California?”

“Venice Italy”, said Shylock.

“There’s a Venice in Italy?” said the official, clearly shocked by the news. “I never knew that”.

“It’s been there quite a long time”, said Shylock. “You’d like it. It’s full of canals and very old buildings.”

“We’ve got some old buildings here, you know,” said the official, defensively. There are some in New York that are over a hundred years old. Can you beat that in your Italy?”

“Just about”, said Shylock.

“Italy”, said the official, “that’s not the same as Iran, is it? They both begin with an I and I’m not allowed to admit anyone from Iran.”

“No”, said Shylock. “They’re very different places. Italy’s in Europe.”

“Europe”, said the official. “I’ve heard of that. It’s a big country near England, isn’t it?”

Shylock reckoned that trying to teach geography to an American was probably a complete waste of time, and was therefore very glad when the questioning turned to a different theme.

“Mr Shylock”, asked the official, “what is your purpose in coming to America?”

“I want to start a new business here”, said Shylock. “I’m a moneylender, and there are some people back home who don’t take too kindly to the ways in which I persuade people to pay me what they owe. They take the line that bodily mutilation is going too far.”

“Bodily mutilation?”

“Yes. I charge extortionate rates of interest and threaten to cut bits out of my customers if they don’t pay up.”

“That sounds enterprising”, said the official. “We tend to use guns rather than knives over here when wanting to stress a point, but apart from that it sounds like a reasonable enough business model. And I like the notion of getting rich quick by squeezing every last penny out of your victims. Very American in tone.”

“I gather that some of your leading citizens made their fortunes that way and then turned to politics”, said Shylock.

“That’s very true”, said the official. “Dodgy businessmen can go a long way up the political ladder if they want to. Even right to the very top.”

“Is that so?” Shylock asked. “Do you reckon I could do the same?”

“You mean become President of the United States?”

“That’s the idea”, said Shylock.

“Ah – you might have a small problem there”, said the official.

“Not dishonest enough, you mean?”

“No, it’s not that”, said the official. “In order to become President you must have been born in the United States, and I assume that doesn’t apply to you.”

“Indeed so”, said Shylock, “but that’s because I wasn’t born”.

“You weren’t born?”

“No. I was created”.

"Created?”

“Yes. By William Shakespeare. I’m one of his best-known characters – from The Merchant of Venice.”

“But that’s just great”, said the official.

“Is it?”

“But of course! America is jam-packed full of creationists! We’re very big on the Book of Genesis, Adam and Eve and all that, so to have someone running for President who’s virtually Adam’s brother would be a dead cert to win, no problem at all!”

“Let’s get this straight,” said Shylock. “You’re saying that a low-down crook like me, with absolutely no sense of morality, who’s prepared to cheat his way to a fortune and doesn’t care who gets trampled in the mud as he does so, but who wasn’t actually born, could rise to the very top? Where in the world is that possible?”

“Only in America, Mr Shylock. Only in America.”

© John Welford

The MasterChef Witches

Heaven alone knows what possessed the BBC to allow Mabel, Doris and Alice – the exceptionally ugly weird sisters who were the residents of Blasted Heath Cottage – to take part in their MasterChef cookery show. Perhaps it was a misguided belief that any reference to the works of William Shakespeare would be good for the ratings, or maybe some magical and other-worldly influences had been brought to bear on the officials who decide these things.

Whatever the reason, the fact remained that the MasterChef kitchen, presided over by the revered John Torode and Gregg Wallace, found itself hosting some unexpected equipment in the shape of three enormous cauldrons as well as the usual cooking facilities. Questions were raised about the health and safety implications of allowing cooking to take place on open fires within the confined space of the MasterChef studio, but – once again – the people with the power to decide such matters seemed to become strangely willing to put aside any objections, and they were also persuaded to change the theme music for the series to “I put a spell on you”, which was appropriate if nothing else.

As the rounds progressed, the other entrants fell by the wayside one after the other. It might possibly have been that their dishes were considered too unoriginal by the judges when set against what Mabel, Doris and Alice had to offer. After all, none of them could compete with the delights of bat wing surprise or dog tongue upside down cake. Alice’s newt and lizard turnovers were declared the star dish of the third show, and nothing could compare with Mabel’s adder’s fork ice cream in the semi-final.

At least, everyone said that these entries were the best things they had ever tasted, and that included all the guest gourmets who came on to the show at various stages. Was any undue influence brought to bear on their judgments in the form of strange incantations uttered over the cauldrons just before the tastings took place? Who could possibly tell? 

The final was therefore fought out between the three witches, who now found themselves in competition with each other as opposed to cooperating to get rid of the other entrants. Sisterly love soon gave way to sibling rivalry and no tactics were considered too underhand to be attempted.

Of the three final dishes, Mabel’s was clearly not going to win. The added ingredients supplied by Doris and Alice, when Mabel’s back was turned, had a devastating effect on the BBC presenters when they passed by and sniffed at the cauldron – all John Torode’s hair fell out and Gregg Wallace suddenly found himself sporting a luxuriant set of dreadlocks that reached down to his waist. The make-up department had a terrible time getting the pair back to their usual appearance, and Mabel was promptly dismissed from the show.

Doris had prepared a new approach to brunch, which was to combine breakfast and lunch on the same plate, in the shape of fairly traditional muesli laced with strips of raw yak meat. Doris being Doris, the muesli had a few added ingredients in the shape of dragonfly wings and chopped hedgehog spines, but it was definitely the pieces of yak that made Doris’s dish stand out as the main contender for the top prize. As usual, John Torode questioned whether it was sufficiently seasoned, but that appeared to be the only objection.

Alice was incensed. After all the effort she had made to get the right rats for her take on ratatouille, she had no intention of seeing her sister steal what she saw as her rightful crown. Doris knew all about doctoring a rival’s entry, so there was no way she was going to allow Alice to get close to hers. Alice had no choice but to win by bribing the judges. 

And that was what she did. As mentioned above, Alice had come to the show with a consignment of rats, and not all of them had been used in her dish. Indeed, she discovered just before the broadcast that some of them had given birth to litters of baby rats and she therefore had considerably more than she started out with. Her rats were direct descendants of those that that caused such devastation by spreading the Black Death in the 14^th century, as were the fleas they carried that were the real culprits.

Alice had the very weapon she needed. If she was not given first prize by the judges, she only had to release her highly fertile vermin for Black Death Number Two to be let loose on to the streets of London. She therefore had a quiet word with John and Gregg, urging them to favour her ratatouille over Doris’s unusual brunch.  The words she actually used had seemingly been provided for that very purpose by William Shakespeare when he wrote Twelfth Night:

“If muesli beef’s the food you love, plague on!”

© John Welford