Rarity sank into the soft and admittedly fake leather, sighing contentedly as she watched Spike squeeze through the gap between couch and table (Applejack had collided with the latter, grunting). The restaurant was full of the delicious smell of hay fries and the chatter of ponies enjoying dinner. Waiters garbed in black fluttered from table to table, whisking plates away and depositing fresh napkins and menus. The sizzle of salads frying tickled her ear.
‘Nonda’s,’ muttered Applejack grumpily. ‘I’ve seen the dreck these plate up – pre-packaged, gut-churnin’ junk food. This ain’t like you, Rarity.’
‘Dreck?’ said Rarity, her brow raised. ‘Junk food? For your information, Applejack, Nonda’s deal in no less than the finest ingredients. Haven’t you watched the ads?’
Applejack snorted and shook her head.
‘“Good food for a fair price”,’ quoted Rarity, ‘and that’s exactly what they serve.’
A waiter appeared, holding three menus.
‘Have you eaten here before?’ he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he ploughed on. ‘No? Well, we like to keep things informal. I’ll take your order at the counter when you’re ready.’
‘Wow!’ said Spike once the waiter was out of earshot. ‘Cress pie, hay pie, barley – they even sell ragwort!’
Applejack was examining the cutlery.
‘Awful fancy for a fast-food joint,’ she remarked, frowning as though the forks’ intricate designs offended her.
‘You see?’ said Rarity, patting the oaken tabletop. ‘Nearer my taste than you – oh!’
She gasped, then squealed, cringing backwards.
‘Rarity!’ cried Spike in alarm. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘The menu!’ squeaked Rarity, the hoof with which she pointed jerking about like a dying rabbit’s paw. ‘Oh, the menu!’
Applejack and Spike glanced at the menu, then at each other, then back at Rarity.
‘Uh,’ said Applejack, ‘what about it?’
‘It’s a splotchy mess!’ cried Rarity, prodding the menu (an ugly-looking thing covered in colourful smears) and recoiling. ‘Was Rainbow sick? I’ll get indigestion!’
‘Land sakes, Rarity,’ said Applejack, chuckling. ‘For a moment there, I thought it was somethin’ serious.’
‘Yeah,’ said Spike, resuming his perusal of the menu. ‘Like there being . . .’
His eyes widened as they reached the bottom of the page.
‘No gems,’ he whispered, but neither Rarity nor Applejack noticed.
‘Just look at it!’ Rarity was saying. ‘Honestly! I fail to grasp the significance of these minimalist pretensions afflicting the walls of our art galleries these days. They’re dismal at the best of times. Why must we eat with them?’
Applejack shrugged and said, ‘Clip ma hooves and dip me in pigswill, but I’m just sayin’ I didn’t ask to be here.’
‘You should be a little more grateful, Applejack!’ snapped Rarity. ‘This is my treat! A thank you for your help, and you’re behaving like a sulking juvenile who got five sweets instead of twenty!’
She opened her menu without further comment and began to read. Applejack looked marginally guilty.
‘“Deep-fried corn stalks served with a red onion salsa”,’ said the latter ten minutes later. ‘“Spinach fritters and fries”, “Golden jackets”, “Baked mushroom risotto” –’
‘CHOOSE!’ yelled Spike and Rarity together for the umpteenth time.
‘I’ll take the fritters, then,’ said Applejack gruffly, ‘but you ain’t spendin’ smart. I can do these at home any time I want and make a better job of it than this clip joint ever could.’
Rarity ignored this.
‘Spike,’ she said, ‘be a dear and order for us, will you? I’m going to wash my hooves.’
‘Judgin’ by that look, I’d say the washroom ain’t to your likin’.’
Rarity sagged back into her seat, her mouth opening and closing like that of a goldfish. She composed herself while Applejack snickered.
‘Lighting like a rock concert’s!’ she managed eventually. ‘And the sinks! Cheap and brash – and dirty, oh-so dirty! What have they done to the place?’
‘A whole lot nicer in memory, ain’t it?’ said Applejack amusedly. ‘But I bet you nothin’s changed. You’re just wakin’ up to reality.’
‘Yes, all right, the décor is a little disappointing,’ said Rarity. ‘But trust me, Applejack. The food is first-rate.’
‘What?’ cried Rarity in disbelief. ‘No “sweeties”?’
Spike made a face.
‘He said they ran out.’
‘Why, it’s – it’s absurd! Spike! Convey our disappointment!’
Spike walked back the way he came, leaving Rarity with Applejack, who was near bursting.
‘Was it really that good?’ asked Applejack between sniggers.
‘Oh, Applejack,’ said Rarity, fixing her with a most significant stare. ‘It was out of this world.’
A short while later, Spike returned, this time accompanied by their waiter.
‘The chefs are prepared to make the dish using ordinary potatoes,’ grated the waiter. ‘Would that suit you?’
‘Ordinary?’ repeated Rarity, her brow raised so high it was a wonder her face didn’t tear. ‘Ordinary? What is ordinary but a euphemism for mediocre?’
She sighed.
‘I suppose it will have to do.’
‘Hey!’ said Spike as the waiter laid before him a bowl of steaming hot broccoli soup. ‘That looks great!’
A small frown creased Applejack’s forehead as she stared down at her fritters.
‘Ooh!’ said Rarity excitedly. ‘Do have a taste!’
‘I don’t know, y’all . . .’
‘Go on!’ urged Rarity. ‘Try some!’
With a daintiness not at all typical of such a pony, Applejack took the teensiest bite.
‘Well, I’ll be,’ she said, and a wry smile crept over her face.
‘You like it?’ said Rarity, beaming.
‘It ain’t half bad, I’ll give you that.’
‘So you do like it! What did I tell you, Applejack?’ said Rarity, tucking into her own food. ‘The best cuisine in all of – pfeh!’
She spat, then gagged.
‘Rarity!’
Spike looked horror-struck.
‘Are you OK? Is it poison? Should I fetch a doctor?’
‘Hold your horses, Spike!’ said Applejack. ‘Now, I’m no expert on fancy eatin’, but I reckon I can tell when a filly ain’t likin’ her food!’
Rarity resurfaced, pink in the face.
‘Woe is me!’ she wailed. ‘Why? Why? The menus, the washroom and now this! I can’t eat it! It’s horrible!’
‘But I thought you said this here’s the best cookery in Canterlot,’ said Applejack, chewing happily. ‘You sure you ain’t partial to just a bite or two?’
Spike slurped his soup.
‘Delicious!’
‘I’ll starve!’ moaned Rarity.
Spike piped up at once.
‘You can have some of mine, Rarity,’ he said. ‘You deserve the best!’
‘That’s very sweet of you, Spike,’ said Rarity, ‘but . . . well, I’ll try.’
Gulping, she levitated into her mouth a globule of soup and swallowed.
‘Ugh! No, no, no, no, no!’
She snatched up a napkin and spat. Spike looked hurt.
‘I appreciate the gesture,’ said Rarity hastily, ‘but I simply can’t eat that!’
‘Here,’ said Applejack, pushing towards her a plate of thickly dressed greens. ‘The fritters’ll do me just fine, so you can have ma side dish.’
‘What is it?’ asked Rarity suspiciously.
‘Kaleslow,’ replied Applejack. ‘It’s good fer you.’
Rarity sniffed, then nibbled a leaf.
‘Yeuch! This kaleslow is old!’
‘Old?’ said Applejack.
‘Yes, old! And they’ve tried to mask its staleness with extra mayo, but I am not deceived! When a chain starts serving day-old kaleslow, you can be sure they’re on the road to ruin! Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t a Nonda’s in Canterlot come our next visit! How could anypony bungle something so simple?’
‘Is everything all right?’
Rarity found herself blinking up at another waiter, whose head was tilted in concern. Applejack, whose mouth was full, winked and nodded. The waiter pursed his lips but carried on to the next table, no doubt to make similar enquiries there.
‘Applejack!’ hissed Rarity. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘Ma mouth was full.’
‘Oh, ha ha. This meal is below par and, quite frankly, unacceptable. And you just sat there, stuffing your phizog! Honesty? Poltroonery!’
‘Pall who?’
‘It means cowardice,’ interjected Spike. ‘Twilight told –’
‘Now hold on just a second!’ said Applejack, firing up at once. ‘You callin’ me a coward?’
‘Well,’ said Rarity, ‘for one who expresses her opinions openly, you certainly kept quiet!’
‘Maybe because I like the food!’ snarled Applejack.
‘Oh, please! You were complaining about it the moment we arrived!’
‘And you were singin’ its praises! If you’ve got a problem, Rarity, stand by and speak yer mind ‘stead of waitin’ on me to do it for you. It don’t work like that!’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Rarity, leaping to her hooves. ‘I will! I am not paying twenty-nine bits for reprocessed leftovers!’
She spun round and marched up to the counter.
‘Can I help?’ asked the waiter who had served them.
‘That remains to be seen,’ said Rarity coldly. ‘I am most dissatisfied.’
The waiter looked stunned. Rarity continued.
‘The . . . ah, your . . .’
She gulped and tried to say the words but, in an ironic twist of fate, realised she hadn’t the courage.
‘Well, um . . . isn’t good enough.’
‘I’m sorry?’ said the waiter.
‘I . . . never mind. We’re leaving!’
But as she made to do so, the waiter cleared his throat and held out a hoof.
‘What?’ said Rarity. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I see. I – yes, of course.’
She grudgingly handed over a pouchful of bits.
‘Well?’ said Spike when she returned to the table.
‘Give me that,’ grunted Rarity, and grabbing the plate of kaleslow, she began shovelling its contents into her mouth. Applejack and Spike shared a look, then resumed their eating in silence.
‘Rarity!’ exclaimed Twilight brightly. ‘Spike told me he really enjoyed his meal. Thanks for taking him with you.’
‘Oh,’ said Rarity, taken aback. ‘It was nothing, really.’
‘Nonda’s, eh?’ said Twilight, smiling. ‘I didn’t know you liked fast food! What did you eat?’
‘Kaleslow.’
‘Oh,’ said Twilight blankly.
‘I had a very nice time, thank you,’ said Rarity, and before Twilight could say anything else, she added, ‘It was very, very good.’
She snapped shut her book and left the library without a backwards glance. Twilight squinted at the title.
‘Staying Zen No Matter What,’ she read aloud. ‘Huh.’