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Fiction

Interstellar Biochocolate Mousse à la solitaire . . . For Two

By Yoss
Translated from Spanish by Hillary Gulley

For Erelvis Jiménez and Roberto Armas Saladrigas

This exquisite dessert, so emblematic of our era of space conquest, dates back to the 2103 recipe by Iljon Tichy, though some detractors of the celebrated cosmonaut refuse to accept this theory on the grounds that there’s no mention of the now-legendary delicacy in any of the many volumes of Tichy’s well-known Star Diaries. Great is human envy . . . and extraterrestrial envy is even greater.

What remains undisputed is that Rodolfo-Rudy “Basil” Turturro not only baptized the dish with the name by which we now know it, but made it famous galaxy-wide in 2135 by preparing it on board the Nohemi Fleet Outer Systems Vessel Mummeenuh during his first year on board, when he was still just a sous-chef. While there’s no record of that event in his widely consulted Memoirs of a Spaceship Chef, it has been credibly corroborated by several dozen enthusiastic witnesses who were among the fortunate passengers on the vessel in question.

Ever since that bygone era, interstellar biochocolate mousse à la solitaire has been the preferred dessert of astronauts who are embarking on long solo journeys—and are understandably anxious about that fact. It’s estimated that several dozen tons of the delicacy have been prepared in our Milky Way alone, and that’s only counting the batches whipped up by the watch pilots on generation torch-sweeper starships—pilots whose tours of duty necessarily entail months of solitude.

INGREDIENTS:

1 (one) pound pure cocoa powder (Theobroma cacao)

If the aforementioned chocolate powder is unavailable, grated chocolate bars will suffice, or even cocoa butter. The latter will give the mousse an antiseptic-white color, not at all as pleasing as the rich brown tones achieved by using pure cocoa.

Avoid the use of synthetic chocolates or crossbreeds like chococorn (Theobromazea cacaomays), as well as any variety of chocolate intended for use as a laxative. Reputable studies have determined that the results are likely to be . . . surprising, with a strong tendency toward the disagreeable.

1 (one) quart pure cow’s milk cream (Bos taurus), chilled

Possible substitutes include cream obtained from pasteurized, semi-skimmed, evaporated, or even condensed milk (though the latter is particularly laborious), rehydrated if necessary. Also acceptable is milk from any other terrestrial bovine species, such as the water buffalo (Bubalus bubalis); the Kaffir, or African buffalo (Sycerus cafer); the American bison (Bison bison); or the European bison (Bison bonasus). There are no restrictions against the use of genetically recovered milk from the uro, or auroch (Bos taurus primigenius), or even soy milk, though the more extreme purists will always reject anything that isn’t 100% authentic cow’s milk, and may engage in lengthy debates as to the superiority of milk from the Brown Swiss versus the Holstein.

Warning: Do not under any circumstances attempt to recreate this recipe using so-called “milk” from extraterrestrial creatures like the dragonturkey of Colimán IV (Dracubirdius horribilis) or the flying policephalic shark of Swemartha SVII (Sharkopavornis aeris). The nutritional properties of the protein concentrates regurgitated by the former and excreted by the latter through its skin are impressive, no doubt—just consider the adult size and vertiginous growth rate of the offspring of both species!—but these substitutes are also high in strange enzymes and hormones.

Note that true milk is produced only by mammals, a zoological group that evolved exclusively on Earth. Do not accept mammaloid substitutes. Of the earthly mammals, milk from whales, lions, dogs, seals, or other members of the phylum is not recommended. As with laxative chocolate or synthetic substitutes, the potential consequences of “throwing out the cow for the dolphin,” so to speak, include considerable discomfort.

It is also not advisable to attempt the recipe with other lactic derivatives such as yogurt or cottage cheese, even if they are made with authentic milk from the earthly Bos taurus.

On the other hand, butter can be used, but be warned that the resulting flavor will be stronger and less refined . . . with all the attendant logical consequences.

1 (one) quart of water

The requirements for this liquid are not particularly specific. While the substance in question must indeed be H2O (and not, for example, H2O2, which is hydrogen peroxide), the concentration of organic, inorganic, metallic, and nonmetallic impurities is not an important factor, nor is the hardness or pH level. Distilled water can also be used. It is best to stick to common hydrogen and avoid heavy water-containing isotopes like tritium or deuterium; the resulting flavor and consistency will not vary, but the ingestion of massive doses of radioactive substances is not conducive to human health, as everyone knows.

Half-pound (8 oz.) of sugar

Basically, dextrorotatory disaccharide sucrose (C12H22O11). It may be used in cube or powder form, and may be refined, turbinado, or brown. Its origin is of little importance; it may come from the sugar cane itself (Saccharum officinarum), sugar beets (Beta vulgaris, of the altissima variety), or even the sugar maple (Acer saccharum), or may result from an artificial process. Note that it must be made of sucrose (monosaccharides like glucose or fructose will not yield the same flavor results) and it must not be levorotatory, as the human metabolism cannot process this class of stereoisomers or enantiomers, even though they are indistinguishable in flavor from the dextrorotatories.

21 (twenty-one) oz. of eggs, separated

As with the water, the origin of this ingredient is irrelevant. Rudy “Basil” Turturro was known to use eggs from chickens (Gallus gallus), but it is rumored that once, on a bet, a chef used eggs from an ostrich (Struthio camelus)—in a lesser amount, of course, given their larger size. In theory, it’s possible to achieve the same results with eggs from any bird, whether earthly or extraterrestrial, and even some reptile eggs will do, as long as the weight used remains consistent.

Obviously, eggs from turtles or similar zoological groups are not recommended, given that their whites thicken differently. The same also applies to alien species like the griffinoid of Ar-Guliag VIII (Trifibius entereoblasticus); the eggs themselves are enormous, but so are their embryos, which are markedly aggressive upon fertilization (“virgin” eggs don’t exist). Cracking such an egg into the mixture could lead to a sudden loss of appetite for dessert . . .

Salt (NaCl, sodium chloride), to taste

The amount of salt to add, or whether to add it at all, is at the discretion of the chef—or diner. Note that the mousse may take longer to set in the total absence of salt. But be sure to use sparingly. Arterial hypertension lurks.

1/30 (one-thirtieth) teaspoon coacervated broth from the planet Oparin

This is the recipe’s key ingredient, and what sets this dessert apart from other, more conventional mousses. Obtaining this singular substance may seem impossibly complicated—it’s not currently used in any other known recipe—but given the planet Oparin’s popularity as a tourist destination and the abundance of this type of pre-cellular biotic aggregate in the shallow sea that covers fifty percent of Oparin’s surface, finding small amounts of coacervated broth is much easier than generally believed. Some souvenir shops at transit stations near the planet even sell larger amounts in glass ampoules. Rarer objects, such as dragonturkey tooth splinters or xylogriffin skin shavings (Seudogriffanus sapiens), both used as amulets to promote fertility and good luck, are often to be found in the luggage of professional astronauts.

DIRECTIONS:

Prepare a meringue by mixing the whites (previously separated from the yolks, of course) with two teaspoons of sugar and a pinch of salt to stabilize the proteins. Beat vigorously to form snowy peaks or soft airy foam—whichever happens first.

Simultaneously (or shortly thereafter), beat the previously separated yolks (which were set aside, not discarded) with the cream (or butter) and sugar, until the mixture thickens to a semiliquid.

Combine the meringue and custard mixture, adding the grated chocolate or cocoa powder and stirring continuously until the mixture is smooth and uniform in color.

Note: The use of a magnetic mixer is not recommended under zero gravity conditions (the results can be quite violent) nor should the mixture be exposed to the frigid conditions and vacuum of outer space. While that may increase the mousse’s volume considerably, it can also irreversibly denature some of the key proteins that give the mousse its flavor, as freezing temperatures are known to break up carbon chains.

The recipe yields five large portions; serve these in bowls, cups, or glasses, according to preference, but do not overfill—the mousse may still expand.

Set aside four containers to chill (but not in the freezer or in outer space). Add the coacervated broth to the fifth portion, then take it to the fusion reactor’s external cooling chamber and let it rest there for a while.

Warning: Never, never add the coacervated broth to the other four portions. And remember to wear the appropriate anti-radiation attire. There’s no reason to risk leukemia just because you crave a little chocolate!

Essential: The final results depend in large part on the chef/diner’s patience during this step. If the fifth portion is only exposed for an hour to the radiation, hard ultraviolet rays, and static electricity in the cooling chamber, the incipient biopreparation will barely be able to drag itself along on its pseudopodia . . . . Even in the best of cases, the resulting porifera, coelenterate, tunicate, or other evolutionary equivalents will barely have gone beyond the sessile phase.

On the other hand, after an exposure time of several hours, it’s very possible that what escapes from the portion of mousse made with coacervated broth will be full of curiosity and ready to inspect the recipient that once contained it. Said escapee may crawl or even run around the cooling chamber on its articulated chitin legs in search of food and new experiences. Some have even sprouted wings, flitting about erratically. Whatever the case, it’s sure to be an enchanting spectacle.

Exposures of between twelve and twenty-four hours are especially recommended. While the results are random in nature, in ninety percent of cases the organism thus obtained will be more than capable of communicating in one way or another, whether through vocalizations, signs, or even—in rare, but documented cases—partial telepathy.

For this very reason, however, it is not recommended that the mixture be exposed to the intensely mutagenic factors in the cooling chamber for more than one day. The aim is to create a roughly compatible dining companion, not a being so developed it devours the diner ipso facto . . . or even worse (if applicable), squashes him like a cockroach (Periplaneta Americana) without conceding him the status of a sentient being—or, worse still, without noticing his existence in the first place.

In addition to the use of the radiation suit to recover the fifth portion of mousse, the selection of an appropriate deterrent before entering the external cooling chamber is recommended. A simple plasma bow or low-powered anti-matter disintegrator will do—nothing instantly lethal. More destructive weapons are also an option, as long as the user possesses a sure enough aim to avoid obliterating the reactor along with the hypothetically dangerous . . . or undesired . . . organism.

Obviously, these are extreme and unlikely scenarios. If the selection of ingredients and preparation (neither of which are terribly difficult, as illustrated above) are even moderately correct, the result will be a charming bio-pet that will effectively alleviate the stresses of a long, lonely journey.

A final word of advice: The first moments of contact are the most decisive. Call to it softly, pet it (if still slightly radioactive it may glow in the dark . . . which shouldn’t be too much of a health hazard), spoil it, make sure it recognizes and loves you . . . and as soon as you can, bring it to the ship’s dining quarters and share with it the exquisite chocolate mousse that has been refrigerated in anticipation of this very moment.

And here is why the recipe yields no fewer than four portions (without coacervated broth—that cannot be stressed enough). It should be clear by now that neither the diner nor his new pet will be satisfied with just one exquisite helping. And as they savor spoonful after spoonful, both will understand the meaning of the Latin word for chocolate: Theobroma, food of the gods.

“Mousse de biochocolate espacial a la solitaria . . . para dos comensales” © Yoss. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2016 by Hillary Gulley. All rights reserved.

English Spanish (Original)

For Erelvis Jiménez and Roberto Armas Saladrigas

This exquisite dessert, so emblematic of our era of space conquest, dates back to the 2103 recipe by Iljon Tichy, though some detractors of the celebrated cosmonaut refuse to accept this theory on the grounds that there’s no mention of the now-legendary delicacy in any of the many volumes of Tichy’s well-known Star Diaries. Great is human envy . . . and extraterrestrial envy is even greater.

What remains undisputed is that Rodolfo-Rudy “Basil” Turturro not only baptized the dish with the name by which we now know it, but made it famous galaxy-wide in 2135 by preparing it on board the Nohemi Fleet Outer Systems Vessel Mummeenuh during his first year on board, when he was still just a sous-chef. While there’s no record of that event in his widely consulted Memoirs of a Spaceship Chef, it has been credibly corroborated by several dozen enthusiastic witnesses who were among the fortunate passengers on the vessel in question.

Ever since that bygone era, interstellar biochocolate mousse à la solitaire has been the preferred dessert of astronauts who are embarking on long solo journeys—and are understandably anxious about that fact. It’s estimated that several dozen tons of the delicacy have been prepared in our Milky Way alone, and that’s only counting the batches whipped up by the watch pilots on generation torch-sweeper starships—pilots whose tours of duty necessarily entail months of solitude.

INGREDIENTS:

1 (one) pound pure cocoa powder (Theobroma cacao)

If the aforementioned chocolate powder is unavailable, grated chocolate bars will suffice, or even cocoa butter. The latter will give the mousse an antiseptic-white color, not at all as pleasing as the rich brown tones achieved by using pure cocoa.

Avoid the use of synthetic chocolates or crossbreeds like chococorn (Theobromazea cacaomays), as well as any variety of chocolate intended for use as a laxative. Reputable studies have determined that the results are likely to be . . . surprising, with a strong tendency toward the disagreeable.

1 (one) quart pure cow’s milk cream (Bos taurus), chilled

Possible substitutes include cream obtained from pasteurized, semi-skimmed, evaporated, or even condensed milk (though the latter is particularly laborious), rehydrated if necessary. Also acceptable is milk from any other terrestrial bovine species, such as the water buffalo (Bubalus bubalis); the Kaffir, or African buffalo (Sycerus cafer); the American bison (Bison bison); or the European bison (Bison bonasus). There are no restrictions against the use of genetically recovered milk from the uro, or auroch (Bos taurus primigenius), or even soy milk, though the more extreme purists will always reject anything that isn’t 100% authentic cow’s milk, and may engage in lengthy debates as to the superiority of milk from the Brown Swiss versus the Holstein.

Warning: Do not under any circumstances attempt to recreate this recipe using so-called “milk” from extraterrestrial creatures like the dragonturkey of Colimán IV (Dracubirdius horribilis) or the flying policephalic shark of Swemartha SVII (Sharkopavornis aeris). The nutritional properties of the protein concentrates regurgitated by the former and excreted by the latter through its skin are impressive, no doubt—just consider the adult size and vertiginous growth rate of the offspring of both species!—but these substitutes are also high in strange enzymes and hormones.

Note that true milk is produced only by mammals, a zoological group that evolved exclusively on Earth. Do not accept mammaloid substitutes. Of the earthly mammals, milk from whales, lions, dogs, seals, or other members of the phylum is not recommended. As with laxative chocolate or synthetic substitutes, the potential consequences of “throwing out the cow for the dolphin,” so to speak, include considerable discomfort.

It is also not advisable to attempt the recipe with other lactic derivatives such as yogurt or cottage cheese, even if they are made with authentic milk from the earthly Bos taurus.

On the other hand, butter can be used, but be warned that the resulting flavor will be stronger and less refined . . . with all the attendant logical consequences.

1 (one) quart of water

The requirements for this liquid are not particularly specific. While the substance in question must indeed be H2O (and not, for example, H2O2, which is hydrogen peroxide), the concentration of organic, inorganic, metallic, and nonmetallic impurities is not an important factor, nor is the hardness or pH level. Distilled water can also be used. It is best to stick to common hydrogen and avoid heavy water-containing isotopes like tritium or deuterium; the resulting flavor and consistency will not vary, but the ingestion of massive doses of radioactive substances is not conducive to human health, as everyone knows.

Half-pound (8 oz.) of sugar

Basically, dextrorotatory disaccharide sucrose (C12H22O11). It may be used in cube or powder form, and may be refined, turbinado, or brown. Its origin is of little importance; it may come from the sugar cane itself (Saccharum officinarum), sugar beets (Beta vulgaris, of the altissima variety), or even the sugar maple (Acer saccharum), or may result from an artificial process. Note that it must be made of sucrose (monosaccharides like glucose or fructose will not yield the same flavor results) and it must not be levorotatory, as the human metabolism cannot process this class of stereoisomers or enantiomers, even though they are indistinguishable in flavor from the dextrorotatories.

21 (twenty-one) oz. of eggs, separated

As with the water, the origin of this ingredient is irrelevant. Rudy “Basil” Turturro was known to use eggs from chickens (Gallus gallus), but it is rumored that once, on a bet, a chef used eggs from an ostrich (Struthio camelus)—in a lesser amount, of course, given their larger size. In theory, it’s possible to achieve the same results with eggs from any bird, whether earthly or extraterrestrial, and even some reptile eggs will do, as long as the weight used remains consistent.

Obviously, eggs from turtles or similar zoological groups are not recommended, given that their whites thicken differently. The same also applies to alien species like the griffinoid of Ar-Guliag VIII (Trifibius entereoblasticus); the eggs themselves are enormous, but so are their embryos, which are markedly aggressive upon fertilization (“virgin” eggs don’t exist). Cracking such an egg into the mixture could lead to a sudden loss of appetite for dessert . . .

Salt (NaCl, sodium chloride), to taste

The amount of salt to add, or whether to add it at all, is at the discretion of the chef—or diner. Note that the mousse may take longer to set in the total absence of salt. But be sure to use sparingly. Arterial hypertension lurks.

1/30 (one-thirtieth) teaspoon coacervated broth from the planet Oparin

This is the recipe’s key ingredient, and what sets this dessert apart from other, more conventional mousses. Obtaining this singular substance may seem impossibly complicated—it’s not currently used in any other known recipe—but given the planet Oparin’s popularity as a tourist destination and the abundance of this type of pre-cellular biotic aggregate in the shallow sea that covers fifty percent of Oparin’s surface, finding small amounts of coacervated broth is much easier than generally believed. Some souvenir shops at transit stations near the planet even sell larger amounts in glass ampoules. Rarer objects, such as dragonturkey tooth splinters or xylogriffin skin shavings (Seudogriffanus sapiens), both used as amulets to promote fertility and good luck, are often to be found in the luggage of professional astronauts.

DIRECTIONS:

Prepare a meringue by mixing the whites (previously separated from the yolks, of course) with two teaspoons of sugar and a pinch of salt to stabilize the proteins. Beat vigorously to form snowy peaks or soft airy foam—whichever happens first.

Simultaneously (or shortly thereafter), beat the previously separated yolks (which were set aside, not discarded) with the cream (or butter) and sugar, until the mixture thickens to a semiliquid.

Combine the meringue and custard mixture, adding the grated chocolate or cocoa powder and stirring continuously until the mixture is smooth and uniform in color.

Note: The use of a magnetic mixer is not recommended under zero gravity conditions (the results can be quite violent) nor should the mixture be exposed to the frigid conditions and vacuum of outer space. While that may increase the mousse’s volume considerably, it can also irreversibly denature some of the key proteins that give the mousse its flavor, as freezing temperatures are known to break up carbon chains.

The recipe yields five large portions; serve these in bowls, cups, or glasses, according to preference, but do not overfill—the mousse may still expand.

Set aside four containers to chill (but not in the freezer or in outer space). Add the coacervated broth to the fifth portion, then take it to the fusion reactor’s external cooling chamber and let it rest there for a while.

Warning: Never, never add the coacervated broth to the other four portions. And remember to wear the appropriate anti-radiation attire. There’s no reason to risk leukemia just because you crave a little chocolate!

Essential: The final results depend in large part on the chef/diner’s patience during this step. If the fifth portion is only exposed for an hour to the radiation, hard ultraviolet rays, and static electricity in the cooling chamber, the incipient biopreparation will barely be able to drag itself along on its pseudopodia . . . . Even in the best of cases, the resulting porifera, coelenterate, tunicate, or other evolutionary equivalents will barely have gone beyond the sessile phase.

On the other hand, after an exposure time of several hours, it’s very possible that what escapes from the portion of mousse made with coacervated broth will be full of curiosity and ready to inspect the recipient that once contained it. Said escapee may crawl or even run around the cooling chamber on its articulated chitin legs in search of food and new experiences. Some have even sprouted wings, flitting about erratically. Whatever the case, it’s sure to be an enchanting spectacle.

Exposures of between twelve and twenty-four hours are especially recommended. While the results are random in nature, in ninety percent of cases the organism thus obtained will be more than capable of communicating in one way or another, whether through vocalizations, signs, or even—in rare, but documented cases—partial telepathy.

For this very reason, however, it is not recommended that the mixture be exposed to the intensely mutagenic factors in the cooling chamber for more than one day. The aim is to create a roughly compatible dining companion, not a being so developed it devours the diner ipso facto . . . or even worse (if applicable), squashes him like a cockroach (Periplaneta Americana) without conceding him the status of a sentient being—or, worse still, without noticing his existence in the first place.

In addition to the use of the radiation suit to recover the fifth portion of mousse, the selection of an appropriate deterrent before entering the external cooling chamber is recommended. A simple plasma bow or low-powered anti-matter disintegrator will do—nothing instantly lethal. More destructive weapons are also an option, as long as the user possesses a sure enough aim to avoid obliterating the reactor along with the hypothetically dangerous . . . or undesired . . . organism.

Obviously, these are extreme and unlikely scenarios. If the selection of ingredients and preparation (neither of which are terribly difficult, as illustrated above) are even moderately correct, the result will be a charming bio-pet that will effectively alleviate the stresses of a long, lonely journey.

A final word of advice: The first moments of contact are the most decisive. Call to it softly, pet it (if still slightly radioactive it may glow in the dark . . . which shouldn’t be too much of a health hazard), spoil it, make sure it recognizes and loves you . . . and as soon as you can, bring it to the ship’s dining quarters and share with it the exquisite chocolate mousse that has been refrigerated in anticipation of this very moment.

And here is why the recipe yields no fewer than four portions (without coacervated broth—that cannot be stressed enough). It should be clear by now that neither the diner nor his new pet will be satisfied with just one exquisite helping. And as they savor spoonful after spoonful, both will understand the meaning of the Latin word for chocolate: Theobroma, food of the gods.

“Mousse de biochocolate espacial a la solitaria . . . para dos comensales” © Yoss. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2016 by Hillary Gulley. All rights reserved.

Mousse de biochocolate espacial a la solitaria . . . para dos comensales

For Erelvis Jiménez and Roberto Armas Saladrigas

La confección original de este exquisito postre, casi emblemático de nuestra época de la conquista del espacio, se atribuye a Ijon Tichy en 2103… aunque algunos detractores del célebre cosmonauta refutan esta hipótesis, alegando que la receta de marras no aparece siquiera mencionada en ninguno de los tomos de sus bien conocidos Diarios de las Estrellas. Grande es la envidia humana… y aún más la extraterrestre.

Lo que sí resulta indiscutible es que fue Rodolfo-Rudy- “Albahaca” Turturro quien no sólo la bautizó con el nombre con el que aún hoy es conocida, sino quien, sobre todo, la volvió galácticamente famosa en 2135, al prepararla a bordo de la Astronave Extra Sistemas “Muummeenuh“, de la Nohemi Space Ships, durante su primer año de crucero a bordo, aún en calidad de Ayudante del Jefe de Cocina. Aunque el dato tampoco consta en su muy consultada Memorias de un cocinero de astronave, existen varias decenas de entusiastas testimonios de los afortunados pasajeros de aquel viaje que lo corroboran fehacientemente.

Desde aquella hoy tan lejana fecha, el mousse de biochocolate espacial “a la solitaria” ha sido el postre favorito de todos los astronautas embarcados en viajes sin compañía… y lógicamente ansiosos de ella. Se calcula que varias decenas de toneladas de este delicioso manjar se han preparado en nuestra Vía Láctea, y eso sólo considerando las confeccionadas por los pilotos de guardia de las astronaves antorcha-barredoras generacionales, obligados a turnos que necesariamente implican largos meses de soledad.

INGREDIENTES NECESARIOS:

1/2 (medio) kilogramo de cacao (Theobroma cacao) puro en polvo

Si no se dispone del mencionado polvo de chocolate, puede también servir cacao en tabletas, después de rallado, o hasta manteca de cacao… sólo que entonces el mousse quedará de un aséptico color blanco, no tan agradable como los ricos tonos pardos que se logran con el producto entero.

Por favor, evite encarecidamente recurrir a sucedáneos artificiales o especies transgénicas como el chocomaíz (Theobromazea cacaomays) lo mismo que a formas de chocolate preparadas con fines laxantes. Los resultados pueden ser… por completo sorprendentes, pero con una fuerte tendencia a lo desagradable, según demuestran los más serios estudios.

1 (un) litro de nata de leche de vaca (Bos taurus) pura y previamente refrigerada

El uso de nata obtenida a partir de leche pasteurizada, semidescremada o incluso evaporada o condensada, (aunque resulta especialmente trabajoso) tras haber sido correspondientemente hidratada, está permitido, lo mismo que el de nata lograda a partir de la leche de especies bóvidas terrestres afines como el búfalo de agua (Bubalus bubalis); el búfalo cafre o africano (Sycerus cafer); el bisonte americano (Bison bison); o el europeo (Bison bonasus). Ni siquiera deberían existir reparos teóricos contra el uso de la leche de uro o auroch genéticamente recuperado (Bos taurus primigenius) o incluso leche de soja (aunque algunos puristas extremos vetan todo lo que sea diferente de la leche de vaca 100% real, e incluso se enfrascan en largas discusiones sobre si es mejor la obtenida de ejemplares pertenecientes a la raza Suiza Parda o la de las Holsteins)

Advertencia importante: No intente bajo ningún concepto recrear la presente receta con las mal llamadas “leches” de criaturas extraterrestres, como los draguipavos de Colimán IV (Dracubirdius horribilis) o los tiburones policéfalos volantes de Swemartha XVII (Sharkopavornis aeris). Las propiedades alimenticias de los concentrados proteicos regurgitados por unos y secretados por las pieles de los otros son altas, sin duda, ¡basta considerar las enormes dimensiones de los adultos y la vertiginosa tasa de crecimiento de las crías de ambas especies alienígenas! pero también la cantidad de enzimas y hormonas extrañas que contienen.

Le recordamos que la verdadera leche sólo es producida por los mamíferos, un grupo zoológico evolucionado únicamente en la Tierra. No acepte sucedáneos mamiferoides. Por otro lado, inclusive de entre los mamíferos terrestres, no es recomendable emplear leche de ballena, león, perro, foca u otros miembros de este phyllum… como con el chocolate laxante o sustitutos sintéticos, los resultados de “cambiar la vaca por el delfín” podrían ser más bien incómodos.

Por lo mismo no se recomienda intentar la confección de la receta con otros derivados lácteos como yogurt o requesón, aunque se hayan obtenido de auténtica leche de Bos taurus terrestre.

La mantequilla, por otro lado, sí que puede emplearse sin problemas, sólo que el sabor logrado es mucho más crudo y fuerte… con las consecuencias fácilmente deducibles que de ello se derivan.

1 (un) litro de agua

Los requerimientos de este líquido no son especialmente rígidos. Mientras que se trate de H20 (y no, por ejemplo, de H202, agua oxigenada) la cantidad de impurezas orgánicas o inorgánicas y metálicas o no metálicas que puede contener no resulta un factor decisivo, lo mismo que su dureza o PH. Sirve lo mismo el agua destilada. Eso sí: se recomienda evitar el uso de aguas pesadas, con isótopos como tritio o deuterio en lugar de hidrógeno común; los resultados (sabor y consistencia) no varían, pero como todo el mundo sabe, la ingestión de materiales radiactivos en dosis masivas no es muy beneficiosa para la salud humana.

Un cuarto de kilo (250 gramos) de azúcar

Básicamente, sacarosa (C12H22O11) disacárido dextrógiro. Da igual si su forma de presentación es en terrones, como polvo, y si su condición es refino, turbinada o morena. El origen tampoco es importante: puede ser obtenida lo mismo de caña de azúcar (Saccharum officinarum) que de remolacha azucarera (Beta vulgaris, variedad altissima) o incluso arce o maple (Acer saccharum), que mediante métodos de síntesis artificial. Lo único esencial es que se trate de sacarosa (monosacáridos como la glucosa o fructuosa no logran la misma calidad de sabor en el postre final) y que no sea levógira, ya que la asimilación por el metabolismo humano de esta clase de estereoisómeros o enantiómeros resulta del todo imposible, aunque su sabor sea indistinguible de los dextrógiros.

600 (seiscientos) gramos de huevo fresco:

Lo mismo que con el agua, las exigencias respecto al origen este ingrediente no son muy estrictas. Rudy “Albahaca” Turturro usó principalmente huevos de gallina (Gallus gallus), pero se dice que en una ocasión, por una apuesta, un cocinero empleó huevos de avestruz (Struthio camelus)… claro que en reducida cantidad, dado su mayor tamaño. Pero, al menos en teoría, es posible usar con el mismo éxito los huevos de cualquier ave, terrestre o no, y hasta los de algunos reptiles. Basta considerar muy cuidadosamente los pesos y cantidades.

Obviamente, los huevos de los quelonios o grupos zoológicos afines, dado que las albúminas de su clara no se endurecen del mismo modo, no son recomendables, lo mismo que los de especies extraterrestres como el grifoide de Ar-Guliag VIII (Trifibius entereoblasticus), pues aunque sean enormes, los embriones en su interior también lo son… y tan agresivos desde el momento mismo de su fertilización (resulta imposible obtenerlos “vírgenes”) que verter uno en la mezcla podría significar quedarse con las ganas de comer postre…

Sal (NaCl, cloruro de sodio) a gusto

Por supuesto, la cantidad de este ingrediente, o incluso su misma adición, depende de cada cocinero… o comensal. En cualquier caso, sin su presencia es mucho más difícil que cuaje el mousse. Pero mejor no exagerar; la hipertensión arterial acecha…

150 (cientocincuenta) miligramos de caldo de coacervados del planeta Oparin

Este es el ingrediente clave de la receta, el que establece la diferencia con otros mousses más convencionales. La obtención de esta singular sustancia podría parecer muy complicada, ya que normalmente no se le emplea en ninguna otra receta conocida, pero dadas la popularidad del planeta Oparin como destino turístico y la abundancia de este tipo de agregados bióticos precelulares en el mar poco profundo que ocupa casi el 50% de su superficie (en algunas tiendas de recuerdos de estaciones de tránsito cercanas llegan a venderse porciones mayores como souvenir, envasadas en ampollas de vidrio) lo cierto es que disponer de esa pequeña cantidad resulta mucho más fácil de lo que generalmente se cree. Cosas mucho más raras, como esquirlas de diente de draguipavo o recortes de piel de xilogrifo (Seudogriffanus sapiens) a guisa de amuletos de fertilidad y buena suerte, se encuentran con frecuencia en el equipaje de los astronautas expertos…

ELABORACIÓN:

Prepárese un merengue con las claras de huevo (previamente separadas de las yemas, claro) con dos cucharadas de azúcar y una pizca de sal para facilitar su cuajada. Se bate enérgicamente hasta el punto de nieve u obtener una espuma suave y bien aireada, lo que suceda primero.

Simultáneamente, (o poco después, no es determinante) procédase a la confección de una crema base batiendo a su vez las yemas antes separadas (que no desechadas, importante) con la nata de leche (o la mantequilla) y el azúcar, hasta lograr la consistencia pesada y semilíquida característica.

Mézclense entonces entre sí ambos preparados, mientras se va añadiendo el chocolate rallado o en polvo sin dejar de batir, hasta homogeneizar y lograr un color uniforme.

Recomendaciones: El batido magnético en condiciones de ingravidez no está recomendado, por su brusquedad, lo mismo que la exposición al vacío y frío del espacio, que si bien estimula extraordinariamente el aumento de volumen de la espuma, puede desnaturalizar de modo irreversible, por congelación que rompe los enlaces carbonados, algunas de las proteínas determinantes del sabor del mousse.

Da para cinco porciones grandes; sírvalas en cuencos, tazas o vasos, según se prefiera, pero procurando no rebosar: existe la posibilidad de que aún crezca un poco.

Cuatro de estos recipientes póngalos a enfriar (no en el congelador, ni en el espacio cósmico) mientras que el quinto, previa adición del caldo de coacervados de Oparin (atención: nunca lo agrega a las otras cuatro porciones), deberá llevarlo al cuarto de refrigeración externa del reactor de fusión, (usando, por supuesto, el traje de protección antirradiaciones correspondiente; no hay que arriesgarse a una leucemia por un simple antojito gastronómico) y dejarse reposar ahí durante cierto tiempo.

Esencial: De la paciencia del cocinero y comensal durante este paso dependerá en buena parte el resultado final de la receta. Si se deja reposar la quinta porción en el ambiente saturado de radiactividad, rayos ultravioletas duros y electricidad estática del cuarto refrigerante del reactor durante sólo una hora, el biopreparado resultante a duras penas se arrastrará con seudópodos… en el mejor de los casos, cabe esperar que no haya rebasado la etapa sésil de porífero, celenterado, tunicado u otro equivalente evolutivo.

En cambio, si el tiempo de exposición se eleva a varias horas, es muy posible que al recuperar la única porción tratada con el caldo de coacervados de Oparin se encuentre con que ha escapado llena de curiosidad y diligencia del recipiente que lo contenía, y se arrastra o incluso corre por la estancia sobre patas quitinosas articuladas, explorándolo todo en busca de alimento y nuevas experiencias. Algunas han incluso desarrollado alas con las que revolotean erráticas; un espectáculo encantador, se lo aseguramos.

Los plazos entre 12 y 24 horas son especialmente recomendables, ya que, incluso considerando los inevitables factores aleatorios, en un 90% de los casos se puede garantizar que el organismo resultante ya será más que capaz de comunicarse de algún modo con usted, ya sea vocalizando, por señas o incluso (los ejemplos son más bien raros, pero sí que se han documentado) por telepatía parcial.

Por lo mismo, la exposición a esta combinación de factores intensamente mutagénica durante períodos de tiempo superiores a un día tampoco es recomendable: usted desea un acompañante con quien compartir en plano de relativa igualdad, no un ser tan desarrollado que lo devore ipso facto… o, peor aún (si tal cabe) opte por aplastarlo como a una cucaracha (Periplaneta americana) sin dignarse a concederle la categoría de criatura sintiente. O siquiera verlo, que es aún peor.

Por sí o por no, además de usar el traje de protección radiactiva para recuperar esa porción, al entrar al cuarto de refrigeración externa del reactor se recomienda llevar un arma disuasoria adecuada… como un arco de plasma o un desintegrador de antimateria de los menos potentes, nada totalmente letal. Armamentos más destructivos son también una opción, siempre que su puntería sea lo bastante fina como para no volar al reactor junto con el hipotético organismo peligroso… o al menos indeseado.

Aunque todos estos son casos extremos, estadísticamente muy improbables. Si su selección de ingredientes y su elaboración del producto (nada difícil, por otro lado, como se habrá deducido de la lectura de los párrafos anteriores) han sido aunque sólo sea medianamente correctas, usted se encontrará con una encantadora biomascota que paliará de forma muy eficaz sus soledades espaciales.

Un consejo final: Los primeros momentos del contacto suelen resultar decisivos. Llámela suavemente, acaríciela (puede que brille en la oscuridad por ser aún levemente radiactiva… pero nada demasiado peligroso, se lo aseguramos) mímela, haga que lo reconozca y estime… y tan pronto como pueda, llévela al comedor de la nave y comparta con ella el exquisito mousse de chocolate que ya para ese momento se habrá enfriado.

He ahí el por qué de las cuatro porciones (sin caldo de coacervados; nunca está de más recalcarlo): está claro que ni usted ni su nueva mascota se van a conformar con una sola ración de semejante exquisitez ¿no? Y ambos comprenderán entonces en paladar propio el por qué del significado latino del nombre genérico del chocolate: Theobroma; don de los dioses.

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