Lt. Commander Yogan Yalu — Memories of sass
Yogan Yalu
(( Holodeck 2, Deck 6, USS Excalibur-A ))
Knowing that he had plans that evening made Yogan’s full day of work go by a little bit easier. After his meeting with Karrod and Talos ended, Yogan spent much of the rest of the day on Starbase 224, borrowing an office from Commander Flarn’pan and availing himself of the resources at the Rhaandarite’s disposal. Lieutenant Commanders del Rio and Scrod, Yogan’s counterparts in Strategic Ops on the USS Chesapeake and the USS Berlin respectively, met with him one last time for an update before catching shuttles back to their ships. While they didn’t have a full plan yet—Yogan would need to line up a few more details before bringing it all to the Commodore—they had the beginnings of one.
It was 1730 hours ship’s time when he beamed back home from the starbase. His stomach was rumbling and his eyes were crossed from staring at PADDs all day. Karrod’s invitation to the holodeck was more than welcome. As he stepped through the double doors, the atmosphere in the holodeck was undeniably Trill. The architecture, the decor, even the view of the canals through the windows all harked back to home. It had been a while since Yogan last visited, which made the holographic environment both comforting and a tad maudlin.
And very familiar.
Yalu: oO I’m certain I’ve been here before. Oo
The name of the establishment, Bistro Manev, struck a note in Yogan’s memory, but he couldn’t place the when. Had he come to this place? He’d spent several years living in the Trill capital during his initiate period. Maybe Bistro Manev was in one of the squares near the Symbiosis Institute compound? The memory was muddled, and Yogan bit his lip as he followed Talos further into the establishment.
Dakora: Evening Commander Niac, I hope I'm not too early... ::He grinned sheepishly.:: I accidentally worked through lunch today and I've been thinking about whatever you've got cooked up ever since.
Niac: Response
Dakora: Whatever it is, I hope you made plenty. ::He patted his stomach.:: Yalu and I know how to eat.
Yogan approached his friends with a chuckle. Talos had accompanied Yogan on more than one burger hunt, and Yogan was impressed to find someone whose appetite was as august as his own. It was always awkward when the server placed in front of you a big, disgusting plate of strongly flavored meat, and in front of your dining companion a small salad. Yogan was glad he didn’t have to worry about that with Talos.
Yalu: We sure do.
Niac: response
Dakora: Hey Yogan, ::Sarcastically-to-the-point-of-being-dad-like:: long time no see.
Yalu: Likewise, Talos. ::inhales:: Something smells like food.
Niac: response
Talos rubbed his hands together excitedly. Yogan felt a humble in his stomach from the aromas.
Dakora: Is there anything we can do to help? ::To Yogan.:: He's being very cagey about all of this.
Yalu: I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook. My second host, Edanne, was a practiced hand in the kitchen, but she was a farmer and her specialty was feeding the entire village. Buffet-style, ladles full of goop and hillocks of light brown carbohydrates. Nothing like this.
Niac: response
Yalu: Karrod, this place is familiar. I think I’ve been here before. Is it somewhere back home?
Dakora / Niac: response
Yalu: I see. Which of your past hosts was the chef?
Niac / Dakora: response
Yogan gulped as the memories sharpened. He could recall now, as clearly as if it were yesterday. Bistro Manev. Rostil, the master chef. It must have been 100 years ago, give or take a decade. Yogan Yalu was Benim Yalu back then, a young, hot-shot journalist whose ambition was an order of magnitude greater than his experience or skill.
Benim had had dreams of hard hitting investigative journalism, but cut his teeth picking up assignments for news outlets all over the Trill homeworld. A fussy food critic named Franda Kal had hired Benim to ghostwrite her column for a few weeks while she was on holiday. Franda’s only requirement was to make the restaurant reviews spicier than the food.
Yalu: ::nervously:: Heh, you don’t say?
Niac / Dakora: response
Benim’s reviews were spicy, all right. Damn spicy. Too damn spicy. Yogan recalled the headline of the review of a certain restaurant called Bistro Manev: “Don’t eat here.” Things went downhill from there: “Whoever developed the recipes must have come of age in an occupied territory.” “No one should leave the comfort and safety of their home to be made this sad by a meal.” “My symbiont threatened to jump out of my body if I’d stayed for one more course. Although that would have killed me, I can’t say I blame them.”
It wasn’t until several decades later that Benim’s writing would acquire the subtlety and charm necessary to write trashy novels you read at the beach. As the ghostwriter, Benim shouldered none of the responsibility for what he’d written, but also received none of the glory. Franda Kal won an award for her scathing restaurant reviews that year.
Yalu: ::sweating:: Well, I can’t wait for dinner.
Niac / Dakora: response
Tag / TBC
Lieutenant Commander Yogan Yalu
Strategic Operations Officer
USS Excalibur NCC-41903-A
D238804DS0