My parents have owned the little diner in town since before I was born.

“Jim and Donna’s hot bites”.

It’s the perfect generic title for this generic town in mediocrity.

I’ve been working there since I turned 14 and I appreciate the opportunity to earn my allowance. It was only recently I started taking a liking to the kitchen work. I remember last night my mother saying they had a bunch of old recipes up in the attic, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning to read through them.

After everyone went to bed, I crept upstairs to go digging for them.

Coq au vine, cassoulet, compound butters… it was obviously they fell in love with food during some time in France.

1 whole chicken preferably old and tough

2 diced onion

1lb diced carrots

5 stalks celery

As long as we do this together nobody will know

….

What the hell? What is that last ingredient?

I began to pour through all the recipes now looking for more of these random notes.

“My dearest Donna, sharing these meals with you has been the deepest love of my life. Nobody has ever understood how great the meat of life can taste until I met you”

“Lover, Soulmate, James. Your skills with a knife make my blood rush. I get excited when I think about sharing a fresh pig with you. But the key to my heart lies in your ability to give life to the old….” It’s scratched out here…

C-A-D…

Cadavers?!? Isn’t that dead people?

More recipes…

“Long pig bbq”

“Old roast meat”

“Formaldehyde removal steps”

I’m starting to feel wheezy. This can’t be real? Maybe it’s just weird French stuff?

“Our Happy Family Recipes.

By Donna and Jim.

Our son will know the bounty of life from his very first meal. We will carve from our very flesh and nourish him from ourselves.

My love for you is endless. And now that we have our own cafe, we can share our gifts with everyone in town” -Jim & Donna