An Eruptive First Date
This is Day 1 of the “Twelve Days of Sci-Fi”. You’ll get a free story each day. You can also get a discount on sci-fi stories for next year.
The date was going well. Aisha was sharp and witty. The conversation flowed as smoothly as the drinks they ordered.
"Stefan, your choice of venue is impeccable," Aisha said with a small laugh. "I've read about Chef Polaski in the news, but to be able to experience this has been quite special."
"I'm glad," he beamed, taking second-hand credit for the restaurant.
Their waitress returned to take their plates, which had been works of art: hydroponic greens and a perfectly cultured fillet.
"Will there be anything for dessert?" she asked, adjusting her chic uniform made of recycled gray fibers.
"Definitely," Stefan said boldly, trying to continue the magic of their evening.
The server nodded and the surface of the table began to shimmer and display the dessert menu projected from overhead.
Stefan scanned it quickly, looking only at the titles and not the prices: tira-mycelium, cryo-poached pears, and algae-foam mousse... and the Chef's Special.
"How about this, Polaski's Permian Baklava," he tapped the description and that section of the menu glowed brighter.
Aisha looked at the equivalent entry in her own menu and read it aloud. "'A delicate, layered structure with a bio-engineered syrup based on wild honey. Designed to interact catalytically in the mouth to initiate the sensation of volcanic warmth via a controlled, cascading exothermic release.' Stefan this sounds intriguing but I don't know how much I want a 'cascading exothermic release' in my dessert."
"But that's the artistry!" he countered, fully bought in on the restaurant's innovative spirit. "It's at the intersection of gastronomy and applied physics! It's all about the experience, far more than just the flavor. Chef Polaski is genius. Think about the idea... a dessert which can release its own heat by eating it? When have you ever heard of that before? It'll be a shared adventure, the perfect way to end our night."
There was still doubt in her eyes, but her curiosity was winning out.
"It's ambitious," she conceded.
"Come on, for science?"
"Alright, for science," she laughed, a sound he was rapidly coming to enjoy. "But if I start glowing in the dark, I'm going to blame you."
Feeling triumphant, he signaled the server.
"We'll get one order of the Permian Baklava, to split between us," he announced.
"A bold choice, sir," the waitress replied. "I'll put that in for you."
She returned to their table several minutes later holding a slate-gray plate reverently, as if she was holding a holy relic.
The Baklava looked deceptively simple: a pastry of golden-brown which glistening brightly with the syrup. In-between its layers was a faint, pulsing, deep-amber glow.
"This is Chef Polaski's Permian Baklava," the server told them proudly. "The catalytic reaction activates on contact. The chef recommends taking a small bite first, in order to appreciate the unfolding."
"Unfolding means it's designed. Controlled. Art," Stefan told Aisha as he lifted a fork.
He pierced the pastry and brought a small, syrup-drenched piece to his lips. "To adventure."
He placed the bite in his mouth.
For a moment there was a pleasant, soothing warmth.
The next moment, it ignited. It became a biting, chemical burn. It felt like the pastry was actively blasting his tongue with fire. An acrid, metallic taste flooded his senses.
"Wow," he managed, trying to keep his face steady even as his eyes watered. "That is potent."
He fumbled for his glass and chugged the ice water, but it barely helped. It felt like trying to douse a chemical fire, just spreading the searing sensation.
"Stefan, are you alright?" she grew alarmed. "Your face is absolutely white."
"Fine, just... more intense than..." he rasped. He couldn't stay calm as the pain only grew worse.
"Stefan look down," she whispered.
The remaining Baklava was now bubbling like a tar pit. A wisp of green smoke rose from the pastry and they could hear a high-pitched hissing. The various layers started to darken as the reaction built from its core. The dessert was now cooking itself from the inside out.
He didn't have time to register her warning as the hissing intensified and demonstrated that the reaction could not be contained within the thin phyllo dough.
The Baklava detonated with a wet THUMP.
Superhot, chemically-active, amber goo sprayed outwards in every direction. It splattered on the table, instantly scorching the wooden surface. It struck his water glass with so much thermal shock that it shattered. A spray struck the living moss wall nearby which curled and blackened on contact.
Aisha quickly ducked and raised an arm, with just a few drops burning through her sleeve.
Startled diners from other tables leapt from their seats and ran to a safer distance. Overhead fire sensors detected the smoke and high temperature and set out an alarm. Emergency lights began flashing red near every exit while a targeted fire-suppressant foam rained down from the ceiling onto the table.
Stefan fought through the pain to understand the horror at how his grand adventure had ended in this mess.
"Everyone remain calm!" a server shouted, trying to manage the mild panic.
Then Chef Polaski herself ran out of the kitchen to check on the alarm and commotion. She stopped in the middle of the room and looked at the foaming table, the damaged wall, and the terrified patrons. Stefan was nursing his mouth while Aisha stared at the large mess.
Polaski started to shake. She saw the remains of her creation and then looked over at Stefan.
"The substrate... the enzymes... they shouldn't have..." she whispered, horrified by her own failure at the chemistry.
"Stefan, let me take a look," Aisha grabbed a napkin from another table and started to brush the foam off him. "Forget about impressing me. I just want to make sure you don't need a tissue graft."
Stefan's pain had been replaced by a deep feeling of humiliation. He tried to speak, to protest, but he could only make a pained croak. He had started the night with the best first date of his life, only for it to become the worst.