Chapter 19: Eighteen

Machel lit the tall silver tapers on the beautifully draped table with a candle. The faces of fourteen passengers, some familiar and some not so, were illuminated with the same soft, flickering glow. Two waiters dressed in smart bow ties came round to set the table. 

“I see, this is the menu for tonight’s dinner.” Anastasia studied the gilded menu-card emblazoned with the initials of the Orient Express. “Some words seem familiar, but…Rasputina, do you understand what the dishes listed here mean?” 

“Let me take a look,” she said, leaning over the table to peek at the menu. “The first course is beef garnished with pasta and sweetbreads, topped with ham essence, accompanied by two potage soups of pomme d’amour and entrées. In other words, fancy beef roast and a number of side dishes.” 

Anastasia swallowed. “A-all that food for just the first course?” 

“You aren’t expected to finish everything on the table, don’t worry.” Rasputina chuckled. “In fact, try not to eat too much before the main dish arrives.” 

A waiter stopped by Anastasia’s side and set down a gold-trimmed porcelain plate in front of her. Her cutlery was meticulously arranged around the plate; forks to the left, while the knives and spoon went to the right of the plate. Each piece of cutlery had been polished spotless, the gold Wagon Lit logo emblem engraved on the handle gleaming against the silver. The second waiter soon came round as well, laying even more fine silverware and crystal glasses on the table before them. Every detail of the lavish and elaborate styling of the dining table screamed ‘luxury’ to the highest degree.

Rasputina breathed an exaggerated sigh of indulgence. “As expected of the Orient Express…” 

Anastasia nudged her to get her attention and whispered, “Rasputina, what am I supposed to do with all these?” 

“I think you’re supposed to use a specific cutlery for every course,” she replied. “Though I’m not too well-versed in fine dining, I’m afraid. Theo has more experience than me.” 

“Theo…oh, right, he should be here too.” Anastasia glanced around from her position at the head of the table, trying to spot him in the semi-darkness. “Do you know where he is sitting?” 

“It’s the custom for the seating plan to be organised by an individual’s status,” Rasputina replied. “Since he’s from the second class, Theo should be sitting near the foot of the table on the other side.” 

“Even if heʼs not a first-class passenger, arenʼt you two very close?” she commented. “I thought he would sit next to you.”

“Well, I wonder about that…” Rasputina murmured, then hurriedly said, “w-wait, Anastasia, where are you going?”

“Hmm?” Anastasia, who was in the midst of standing up, gave her a curious look. “I’m going to invite Theo over to have dinner with us.” 

“You can’t just get up and leave the table without a cue, that’s against etiquette,” she explained in a hushed voice. “Let’s wait until the wine is served and go together.” 

“A-alright.” She nodded her head and sat back down on her chair. 

A steady parade of waiters began to deliver dishes for the first course; a large round of garnished beef was placed in the middle, while the two silver-gilt tureens of soup were placed at either end; various entrées from golden spit-roasted chicken to filet mignon to the exotic, such as rabbit liver pâté, filled up the remaining space—eliciting eager anticipation from the passengers gathered around the dining table. 

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“Ces mesdames et messieurs sont servis,” Machel announced after the serving of the soup. “Bon appétit!” 

Sir Burdett, who sat in the middle of the table, stood up and lowered his head in a bow. “Bon appétit, Your Highness and Grace.” Upon his cue, everyone at the dining table also wished the pair and one another “bon appétit” before taking their cutlery to eat. 

Rasputina removed her gloves and picking up her soup spoon, she delicately tried the reddish-orange potage; the first taste melted on her tongue in a burst of sweetness and sourness that took her by mild surprise—but irresistibly delicious nonetheless. 

“This taste feels familiar,” Anastasia murmured as she slid her spoon from her lips. “Rasputina, could this be tomato soup?”  

“Hmm? Of course it is, pomme d’amour refers to tomatoes after all.”

“But why call them by such a name?” 

Rasputina smiled at her. “It’s commonly believed that tomato seeds have aphrodisiac qualities, you know. That is why they are suitably named ‘love apples’.” 

“Interesting, I’m calling tomatoes by that name from now on…” Anastasia dipped her spoon into her écuelle and slurped down another spoonful. “Mm, good soup.” 

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything more. Soon, a carving of beef was served to everyone at the table; waiters began making their rounds with salvers perfectly balanced on their left palms, filling the glasses of the passengers with their preferred alcohol. 

“Champagne, s’il vous plait,” Rasputina whispered to the waiter who approached her side. Noticing the expectant look on Anastasia’s face, she relented. “Same for Her Highness as well.” 

“D’accord, Your Grace.” Producing a silver blade, the waiter opened a bottle of champagne in one fluid motion and swiftly filled each of their flutes, much to the amazement of Anastasia. 

“Rasputina, did you see him do that?” she asked excitedly after the waiter left. 

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded her head while swirling her flute of champagne and sipping at it. “I heard that this particular technique of opening a bottle is called ‘sabrage’. Apparently it was popularised by the Empire’s cavalry opening champagne with their sabres to celebrate their victories, at least that’s how the story goes.” 

“Woah…Rasputina, you sure do know a lot of stuff, don’t you?” replied Anastasia, with an impressed look on her face. 

“I suppose travelling frequently has its merits.” She laughed and stood up, gesturing for her to follow suit. “Come on, let’s go meet Theo—wait, no, Mister Cath—now.”

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