I’ve been studying for this moment for years, I’ve read the ancient texts, perused the ancient websites. I dream of chocolate and other things that went extinct two centuries ago. And yet I’m stuck with what I have.

My laser blade slices through the flesh of the fout, its jelly-like body jiggles a little as I scoop out its innards and mush them up in the bowl.

It’s a cruel thing taking something so false, so artificial and making it look like its fresh, fulfilling ancestor. This fout will never be as juicy or as zesty as the oranges it’s supposed to resemble.

There are few fruits that haven’t gone extinct, but only the elite can afford those. I work in a simple café dealing with the second class. They lack imagination! Food is just fuel to them. Not to me.

This faux orange covered in dyed nori to act as its peel will taste good for sure. But it will never be the real thing. It’ll never hold the sweet tangy smell that excites the nose. It’ll never give the sensation of the waxy peel slipping away in your fingers.

This is not an orange, none of us will ever get to try the real thing. I wish our ancestors didn’t wake what they had for granted.