The Battling Gourmand

Much like the battling arenas of the ancients, this modern imitation featured a lower fighting area surrounded by tall walls. Circling this center were rows and rows of benches crammed with loud, smelly spectators. Unlike the ancient arenas, this one was fully enclosed with a domed ceiling of glass and air conditioning pumped through to cool the masses anxiously waiting for the match to start. The ground of the arena center was smooth tile, cool to the touch and, though cleaned after every match, was stained and dented from past battles.

The arena floor was empty save for a large industrial oven against one wall and against the opposite wall, near the only door into the arena, was a wooden table and chair. Set on the table was silverware - a plate, fork, cake cutter and a glass of milk. The air, though thick with the stink of human body odor, was overpowered by the scent of baking chocolate.

The door behind the table creaked open. A rotund man in a white baker’s apron and hat sauntered out. The crowd broke into wild cheering as he waved to them. Sitting down, the lights above him and the audience went out. Everything was pitch black for a moment. Then a spotlight shone down on the man. Another spotlight illuminated the oven. A dozen other lights came on, but only provided dim and spotty lighting over the rest of the battle ground.

The aroma of hot cocoa grew stronger. The crowd quieted down. Many leaned forward, staring at the oven in anticipation.

Ding. A red light on the oven flicked on, the door swung down and the rack slid out. On the rack was an enormous chocolate cake. Everyone in the arena, including the man in the battle area, breathed in deeply, reveling in the sweet aroma of the chocolate cake.

A voice boomed from the arena’s speaker system. “Round One! The Gourmand versus the Chocolate Cake! Let the battle begin!!”

Brow furrowed with concentration, the Gourmand gripped the cake cutter in his right hand. He scrutinized the cake as he rose to his feet. Starting to move around the table, he froze when he heard a low growl emanate from his opponent.

Strawberry glazed eyes opened on the front side of the cake. A long maw spread open from one side to the other under the eyes. Rows of jagged chocolate chip teeth glistened under the spotlight. Its ganache tongue lapped at its lips as caramel sauce dribbled down onto the oven door.

As it flew off the rack towards the Gourmand, the crowd went crazy. Stomping of feet, clapping of hands and high pierced whistles thundered through the arena. Almost evenly split, half the audience cheered for the cake while the rest rooted for the Gourmand. The Gourmand dropped and rolled away as the cake soared overhead. Scrambling to his feet, he turned to see the cake hurtle towards him along the ground.

Shifting his weight forward, he launched himself towards it, cutter raised high and ready to strike. The cake veered to one side, lashing out with its tongue at the Gourmand’s ankle. Unable to turn in mid-air, the Gourmand cried out in pain as the hot caramel seared through his pant leg, burning his skin. Hitting the tiled floor hard, he bounced along until his momentum finally stopped.

He tried to scramble to his hands and knees, but was too slow. His side burned when the cake chomped down on a large section of belly fat. Letting out a mighty roar, the Gourmand slashed and stabbed at the cake with his cutter. Most of the thrusts missed, but one sliced off a large chunk, including one eye. Now it was the cake’s turn to cry in agony as it released its hold on the Gourmand. Both hobbled away from each other to inspect their wounds.

The crowd continued to shout out encouragement. One section chanted, “Gourmand! Gourmand!” while another group stomped their feet and yelled, “Chocolate Cake! Chocolate Cake!” The tension in the arena rose. Both contestants were down, but were they out?

The Gourmand recovered first and stumbled toward the backside of the cake as it lay whimpering on the cold tile. Over the roar of the crowd, the cake didn’t notice its approaching demise. With several quick thrusts down, the Gourmand tore the cake asunder. Gooey chocolate splattered all over the Gourmand’s white clothes and stuck to his hands and face. With one last gurgle, the cake stopped moving, sliced into several pieces. Leaping to their feet, the audience cheered and applauded the exciting battle.

The Gourmand scooped up a large chunk and wobbled to the table, slumping down hard into the chair. Reverently, he set the cake on the plate and grabbed the fork. A hush flowed through the spectators as they waited with bated breaths for the final victory.

Taking a huge bite, the Gourmand savored the smooth caramel, the rich chocolate and the sweet strawberry. Closing his eyes, he chewed and chewed, allowing all the delicious flavors to mix and mingle. Swallowing at long last, he opened his eyes and stuck his thumb straight up. The crowd went wild, hooting and stomping their feet. Picking up the glass of milk, the Gourmand took a long drought and let the milk wash down the remaining cake, cleansing his palate.

The voice came over the loudspeaker. “Round one goes to the Gourmand! Next round will commence in fifteen minutes! It will be our reigning champion the Gourmand versus the Monster Burger!”


(926 words)