DAY 58: Doesn't Taste like Chicken

"Martin Hamilton," the boy said.
The house opened its front door and said, "Welcome home."

Martin slung off his schoolbag and dropped on the couch.  "Mom!"  The speakers of the house echoed with the dialing ringtone, connecting to Mrs Hamilton's office phone.
She picked up after the second tone.  "Hi, honey!  How was school?"
Martin said nothing, grinding his face into a couch cushion.
"Martin honey, give yourself fifteen minutes and then get on with your schoolwork while it's fresh in your head.  I've already set the house to block the network until you zip it to me, so the sooner you send it to me, the sooner you can get to killing zombies, which is a very incorrect phrase - so, whatever you do, you're doing homework first!  Call me if you need anything!"
The phone disconnected with a chirp, and Martin slumped to the kitchen.

"Open," Martin said, searching for his afternoon snack.  Half the shelves were full of his mother's pre-cooked entrees (fancy dinner for four, table ready in ten.)  He peered through the shelves, looking for something to sate him.  "Fruit," he said; the carousel spun around to offer the drawer of watermelon slices and grapes.  He didn't want that.  "Pudding."  The fridge buzzed; an overhead monitor asked, "would you like to add to list?"  Martin kept looking...
At the 25-second mark, the fridge started to beep, and the doors prepared to close.  "Wait!"  Martin caught the door.  He was about to surrender when he saw-
"Yummy Putty."  The fridge opened its doors, and the carousel spun to a tube of translucent white paste.  "Pork Barbecue sauce... buttered potato sauce... Bacon Cheeseburger sauce... Cinammon Bun sauce..." Martin grabbed up the selections, and headed for the microwave.

Martin squeezed out the Putty onto a plate, and shaped it into a shallow bowl.  He applied the barbecue sauce, and the aroma of 12-hour marinated pork overtook the kitchen.  The putty began to flake into strands of meat, the color of deep cherrywood.
He squirted a few drops of Buttered Potato sauce in the center, and watched the spots change from reddish-brown to cottony white; the scent of creamy melted butter greeted him.  He put his creation in the microwave, on the 'culturize' setting.
As he waited, his eyes rested on the tube of Cinnamon Bun sauce.  He grinned a crooked grin, and took the tube in his mouth like a baby bottle.

When Mrs Hamilton arrived home, Mark was inconsolable.  The floor was a mess from his incomplete trips to the trashcan and bathroom.  His attempts to answer his mother's questions were incomprehensible; the only words the admittng nurse could understand was "I taste like cinnamon! I taste like cinnamon!"


inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Lab-Grown Meat Tastes... Boring"