Chocolate and Cuckoo Clocks. Alan Coren
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Lao, sotto voce.
After the song had died away at last, he looked down at his small wooden bowl.
‘Excuse, please, obscene disaster in human form,’ he said to his wife, ‘but what is this esteemed muck I am supposed to eat?’
‘It is from special Madame Mao recipe,’ said his wife. ‘With purpose of building healthy citizen-soldiers and at the same time destroying ugly capitalist greed-orientated appetite. Is sawdust foo yong full of nourishing synthetic protein, guaranteed free from artificial colouring.’
Lao forked a moist blob of the khaki paste into his mouth, blenched, and pushed the bowl away. His wife, poised for ideological advantage, raised an eyebrow.
‘Well?’ she said dangerously.
‘Oh,’ cried Piu-Fong, ‘how all-seeing and talented is the great mother of our people!’
She narrowed her eyes.
‘What are you trying to pull, revisionist fink?’ she grated.
‘Nothing. But see how my former fascist greed and unMarxist appetite have disappeared through the wisdom of Mother Mao! Not one more mouthful need I eat, so successful has her policy proved.’
Mrs. Piu-Fong threw down her chopstick.
‘Do you refuse, therefore, to give me the opportunity of self-criticism? Am I not to be allowed to repent for my deviation from the recipe as laid down by Madame Mao?’
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