chapter 20

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What should the signboard of a Japanese food restaurant say?

Sashimi, sushi, tempura?

In 2075, while these traditional Japanese dishes could still be synthesized from bizarre materials, their appearance and taste had deviated so much from the original that they could no longer be considered signature items. On most menus in Night City's Japanese restaurants, one dish reigned supreme as the most popular option:

Yakitori.

Made from synthetic meat, the "chicken skewers" bore little resemblance to their pre-pandemic predecessors. When they arrived at the table, Jack eagerly ordered twenty skewers, which looked more like glazed meatballs than traditional chicken. He enthusiastically encouraged Oliver and Karl to try them.

While Karl hesitated, trying to figure out whether the skewers were safe to eat, Oliver had already grabbed one in each hand, devouring them with gusto. He seemed to be enjoying himself, much to Karl's confusion.

Finally, Karl convinced himself that even if the skewers were made from insects, he'd have to adapt sooner or later. Picking one up, he bit into a meatball and chewed slowly.

"Ugh…"

He immediately spat it out.

It wasn't about wasting food—Karl's body outright rejected the skewer. His lips and teeth tingled with discomfort, his stomach churned, and every instinct screamed that this was inedible.

If Karl had to describe it, he would call it "terrible" with two words, "unbearably terrible" with three, and "an absolute disaster" with four. The taste reminded him of the cheap, sawdust-laden sausages he'd been forced to eat as a child—full of starchy fillers that even stray dogs might avoid. The overpowering seasoning only made it worse, combining the tang of soy sauce with a bizarrely acidic aftertaste.

Jack and Oliver stopped mid-bite, alarmed by Karl's reaction.

"Is it poisonous?" Oliver asked nervously, holding his half-eaten skewer.

Karl shook his head, trying to wipe the taste from his mouth. "No, it's just awful."

"Awful?"

Jack and Oliver stared at Karl's uneaten skewer. Something didn't add up. The skewers looked identical. Why would Karl think they tasted bad when both Jack and Oliver had been enjoying them?

To test the theory, Jack picked up Karl's rejected skewer and took a bite. His face instantly twisted into confusion.

"This is… fine? Isn't it fine?"

Oliver, not fully convinced, took the skewer from Jack and bit into it. After a few moments of chewing, his expression mirrored Jack's.

"It's not bad. What are you talking about?"

Karl sighed, realizing the issue wasn't the food but his standards. Jack and Oliver had grown used to the highly-processed, flavor-masked synthetic food of Night City. But for Karl, who had grown up eating real meat, the synthetic approximation was revolting.

"Compared to real chicken skewers, these taste like garbage," Karl said bluntly.

"Real chicken?" Oliver raised an eyebrow. "You do know poultry meat has been illegal in Night City ever since the Bird Flu pandemic, right? If you want to taste real chicken, you'll have to hit the black market. It costs a fortune."

Jack's jaw dropped. "Wait, Karl—you've actually had real chicken? Like, from an actual bird?"

"Of course I have," Karl said. "That's why I can tell you these synthetic skewers are awful. I'm done with this—get me something else."

Now convinced that Karl had lived an entirely different lifestyle before, Oliver leaned back in his chair. "You must've been some kind of corporate kid. Eating real meat in this city is a luxury most people can't even imagine."

"Does this look like a corporate lifestyle to you?" Karl gestured to himself, amused. "I'm carrying a second-hand Lexington pistol. Hardly screams 'wealthy heir.'"

Still, Karl waved down the waitress and ordered something else. But it soon became clear that nothing would satisfy him. Each new dish he tried—fried pork cutlets, sushi, sashimi, Japanese curry—ended with the same verdict: inedible. Jack and Oliver ended up eating the leftovers, piling their plates high with food Karl rejected.

"Stop, Karl!" Oliver finally said, his stomach aching from the sheer volume of food. "You've almost ordered the entire menu. Can't you find one thing you like?"

Karl sighed, looking genuinely exasperated. "I can't help it. None of this is edible. I swear, if it weren't for the cold noodles I had a couple of days ago, I'd have starved."

"I'm seriously starting to wonder where you grew up," Jack said, rubbing his round belly. "You've had real chicken, pork, beef, and fish. Were you living on some utopian farm or something?"

"Something like that," Karl replied vaguely, eyeing the tea rice that had just been placed on the table.

Thankfully, the tea rice didn't disappoint. Karl finally found something he could eat, though it was vegetarian and devoid of any synthetic meat.

As he chewed, Karl felt a sense of resignation. If this was what Night City's food culture had become, he might have no choice but to embrace a fully vegetarian diet.

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