10 Fictional Universes We’d Like To Live in Based on Food Alone Power Grid By The Mary Sue StaffSep 6th, 2011, 12:29 pm You are seeing this message because you have javascript disabled. To use our slideshows you need to enable javascript. There's no cross domain hackery or tracking voodoo, it's just some sweet jQuery animations. Please, think of the animations. In the meantime, enjoy the html version below. I guess. If that's your thing. Allow Us To Explain So here's the simple explanation: 1. We were trying to think of a Power Grid. 2. We were hungry. That's it. I'm being perfectly serious. What you see before you is the product of a few people sitting down to write something about fandom when they didn't have any snacks on hand. We started thinking about fantasy food and then had to make a list out of it. Because there are some settings we'd never like to live in, but if they were a just a restaurant we'd never leave. Some of these foods, of course, have been replicated in the real world (I mean, these are fans we are talking about, we cook just as good as anybody else); and where possible we have tried to include links to the places where you could learn how to make Hotroot Soup, District 11 bread, and even Krabby patties, although some of these recipes are deceptively simple as stating in a clear voice "Tea, earl grey. Hot." Runners up are as follows: The Lord of the Rings (for Hobbit food only, it's pretty clear that nobody likes lembas after a day or so), Trueblood (Pushing Daisies was deemed superior in the pie department due to it's lack of vampiric complications), Dr. Seuss, Discworld, Star Wars, and World of Warcraft. Redwall The first, foremole foremost item on this grid is, naturally, the world of Redwall where the only thing that matches Brian Jacques' rich descriptions of the environment and characters is his rich descriptions of the ludicrous entirely vegetarian feasts they enjoy. (Okay, there's some fish.) While there are a number of recurring dishes throughout the series (otters make Hotroot Soup, seafaring beasts have a taste for Skilly and Duff, Candied Chestnuts are a favorite treat, and moles have their Deeper'n'Ever'n'Turnip'n'Tater'n'Beetroot Pie), Jacques pads out the seasonal feasts of Redwall Abby, and the frequent feasts in other locations, with mouthwatering descriptions like "tender freshwater shrimp garnished with cream and rose leaves, devilled barely pearls in acorn purée, apple and carrot chews, marinated cabbage stalks steeped in creamed white turnip with nutmeg." It should come as no surprise that almost a third of this grid are worlds created by British authors who lived through World War II and the years of food rationing that accompanied it. After childhoods or adolescences lived on restrictions like one egg a week the value of a good, hearty, and above all delicious meal is not taken for granted, and Brian Jacques certainly knew how to communicate the sentiment. If you're looking for Redwall themed recipes and want to shell out some money, you probably can't go wrong with the official Redwall Cookbook, which is reviewed quite favorably. If you're looking for the fan response, and don't mind feeling like you stepped into an Internet time machine, try Redwall.net's Kitchen or this collection of Redwall recipes. And if you just want to know how to make candied chestnuts, click here. A Song of Ice and Fire While not seen or discussed much on Game of Thrones, the books on which the show is based contain descriptions of some seriously amazing-sounding fare. That is, if you like your meals rustic, grown in a nearby garden, and freshly caught from the woods after escaping a pack of direwolves. But a lot of the food in George R.R. Martin's book are not unfamiliar territory, despite taking place in a fantasy setting. It's food of the medieval period that uses whatever animal might be running around (herons, goats, boars, pretty much anything with a pulse) and classic spices and preparation. And in these days of microwaveable everything, it makes almost every meal seem like a fancy dinner with the preparation required. It's also influenced by the region that inspired it, with meat pies (specifically, pork pies and beef-and-bacon pies), dried fruits (that wouldn't spoil on long journeys), and spiced wines. You can't help but think that writing something as epic as A Song of Ice and Fire has to inspire something that takes a lot of effort, thought, care, and imagination. Whether it was just breakfast on the Wall, a simple mid-day lunch, or an elaborate wedding feast, Martin had a very special menu planned for every occasion. And when you're living in a fantasy universe where teenagers are ordering beheadings, people are having incestuous relationships and canceling out royal lineages, and direwolves that might be kind of telepathic, let's just let these people dine like royalty. Or, if you just want to impress a clan of Dothraki, you can just nosh on a horse's heart. An entire horses's heart. Come on, raw food, people! It's a thing, even in medieval times! Star Trek The Star Trek universe is no stranger to absolutely delicious food, from Romulan Ale to Klingon Bloodwine (okay, maybe delicious isn't quite the right word for most Klingon food, but at least one fan recipe for Bloodwine includes about a dozen packets of unsweetened cherry Kool-Aid, so that's something). No, the reason we'd love to spend time in Federation Space for it's food alone isn't really about it's food. It's about it's food preparation methods, namely the replicator. Replicator technology is a brilliant offshoot of the quintessential teleportation tech of the Star Trek universe. Teleportation works by carefully recording the molecular composition of a subject, disassembling it's component molecules, transmitting them to a new location, and reassembling them in their original configuration. Replicators, on the other hand, skip a couple of steps, and simply disassemble base materials and then reassemble them in a more desired configuration like star ship parts, clothing, and, eventually, entire meals. Though some claim to be able to tell when food has been assembled in seconds out of inorganic compounds rather than grown, harvested, stored, prepared and served, lets face it, they're just being snobs. I know I'm not the only one who wouldn't mind coming home after a long day an immediately replicating up some of my mom's turkey casserole... from space. Not to mention the time saved in clean up, composting and environmental impact: Replicators can break down repli-leftovers too, including silverwear and dishes. Yes, in the Star Trek universe actual cooking can be considered entirely a pleasure activity, as one single device has replaced the pantry, refrigerator, pot-rack, cutlery drawer, and dishwasher. Oh, and tupperware. Harry Potter True, Honeydukes had their fair share of interesting candies. But it was when everyone piled into the Great Hall at Hogwarts Academy that made the Harry Potter series really hard to read when you were hungry. Maybe Hermione was right when she thought the house elves should be paid, even though it was just a part of their nature to refuse. Because not once did anyone complain about the food that was served three times a day. From the continental breakfast -- how these kids grabbed nothing but toast is baffling when you know they probably could have gotten an unbelievable omelet, probably made from phoenix eggs or something -- to dinner, when hot plates of everything you never got at Thanksgiving were followed by cakes and dessert. Some people might not be very into British food, but J.K. Rowling had a way of making everything sound delectable. And in the ancient halls of Hogwarts, everyone was treated to fare that was equal parts old-fashioned, hearty, and flavorful: steak and kidney pie, potatoes in all forms, Cornish pasties (what Hot Pockets wish they could be), roast beef, fried sausages, turkey, bacon and steak (bacon and steak), all of it washed down with pumpkin juice or butterbeer, and the followed by mint humbugs, treacle tarts (Harry's favorite), spotted dick (click here to see what that really is), and chocolate gateau. It's not that hard to see why these kids always talked with their mouths full. But whenever Harry was forced to skip a meal in the Great Hall...well, that was the tiniest bit devastating. Hook In a way, we touched on this idea a while back in our 10 Most Theoretically Delicious Sweets Power Grid: that nothing is more delicious than food you have to make up yourself. Back then we were talking about Turkish Delight, which is an actual candy that nevertheless is almost never found in America. This has lead to a large portion of the population of children who grew up reading The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe having to come up with their own ideas about what Turkish Delight is completely individually, and from only a very non-descriptive name to guide them. Similar, then, is the nightly feast of the Lost Boys in Steven Speilberg's Hook. For, in keeping with the film's broadly stroked themes of reclaiming childhood creativity, hope, and joy, the Lost Boys eat only what food they can imagine. This leads to a very confused, very hungry Peter Banning staring at a bunch of children very enthusiastically miming the serving and eating of a great load of food out of completely empty pots and bowls. Also, naturally, some fantastic obviously improvised lines from Robin Williams ("Gandhi ate more than this!") When (after successfully trouncing rival Zuko Rufio in a battle of wit) he finally makes the breakthrough and manages to see at last the great swath of vittles laid out before him, the audience gets a generous long trailing food porn of a pan over plates heaped with roast chicken, fresh fruit, cheese, bread, ice cream, and... Multicolored Play-doh? Uh... un-melting rainbow sherbet? Whatever it is, it taps right into the brain of any kid of Hook's intended age demographic and fair out punches the "That Looks Delicious" button. Heaven knows, it was mostly like colored mashed potatoes (could be lard, as well, a frequent substitute for ice cream in films and photo shoots because it doesn't melt under the heat of lamps, but the consistency of the stuff on film would indicate otherwise). Actually, that gives me an idea for this Thanksgiving... The Phantom Tollbooth Norman Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth is a book primarily about reminding it's main character Milo (and therefore, the reader) of the joys of being engaged with your environment, being excited about learning, and being curious about what comes next in life as well as fiction. And for Juster, a decent amount of this was communicated through food. Now, given, some of this food is not stuff we'd be willing to give up our own universe for: subtraction soup, for example, makes the eater more hungry after eating it than they were when they started. Although we could see that one having some utility as a middle course in large banquets. Another considerably practical food would be the Digitopolitan delicacy of Division Dumplings, of which there are always more on your plate no matter how many you eat. But lets get away from the cuisine of Digitopolis and move back to Dictionopolis, where one of the very first "secret facts" of life shown to Milo is that the reason why people don't spell words with x's and z's very often is that they just don't taste very good. A's, e's, and t's on the other hand, are fantasic. Milo finds i's to be refreshing and c's to pack a wonderful crunch. A later Dictionopolan feast features all of the attendees giving speeches and then eating their own words. Speeches like "Roast turkey, mashed potatoes, ice cream," "hamburgers, corn on the cob, chocolate pudding," and "pâté de foie gras, soupe á l'oignon, faisan sous cloche, salade endive, fromages et fruits et demitasse." Remember when we were talking about replicators in Star Trek? But we've always idly dreamed of recreating the Dictionapolan dessert of Half-Baked Ideas, some sort of edible involving icing and nuts and representing phrases like "Night air is bad air," "It doesn't rain but it pours," "the moon is made of green cheese," and "everything happens to the best." They are apparently very tasty, but it's best not to eat too many, as they don't always agree with you. All puns aside, we'd recommend The Phantom Tollbooth to anyone looking to instill an appetite for learning in a child. Pushing Daisies An oft-lamented product of early cancellation, Pushing Daisies was a series that, for two seasons, followed the adventures of goofy crime-solvers Ned the Pie-Maker, his not-dead girlfriend Chuck, and Emerson Cod, P.I. In the first episode of the series, as the wry narrator informs us, Ned's lifelong talent for bringing the dead back to life with a touch is revealed to Emerson, and to Chuck, who is lying in her coffin at the time. One touch from Ned brings things back for one minute, at which time he must either kill it again with a second touch, or risk something else "equivalent" dropping dead in its place. Needless to say, hijinks ensure! Well...a fruitful crime-fighting business anyway. In addition to fine nods to the noir genre, fun use of the Bradbury Building, and not a few musical numbers (what else are you going to do with Kristin Chenoweth?), Pushing Daisies revolves around visuals that can best be described as Pie Porn. Ned's not called the Pie-Maker for nothing; he runs a pie-shaped diner in this candy-colored world called (what else) the Pie Hole. Every episode, viewers were treated to the mouth-watering sight of luscious, over-the-top, perfect pies hanging out on racks in back of the characters, in front of the characters, being baked during dramatic moments of sexual frustration by characters, and, of course, being shoved into the mouths of characters while they tried to crack the latest case. Why so delicious? Because Ned, as we are shown, brings dead fruit back to plump, full life in his kitchen, ensuring that his pies really are supernaturally amazing. (And that he can’t eat them, as they’d turn rotten in his mouth. A probable explanation for why Lee Pace remained so skinny among all that dough.) (Don't...ask us about the logistics of only touching baking supplies once, except that we suspect it involves latex gloves. Also...we're not sure how much grass in the vicinity was casually offed for each box of undead strawberries.) Because Chuck né Charlotte Charles is officially dead, she can’t risk her sudden appearance giving her two wacky shut-in aunts, Vivian and Lillian, a heart attack. So she does what any thoughtful magically-resurrected niece would do. She sends them their favorite pie. It is in this storyline that, besides the usual three-berry mouth-watering confections, the show revealed one of its brilliant specialties; the Apple-Gruyère pie. Many of the show’s hungry fans have cooked of various versions of this amazing-sounding dessert. We located this recipe on the Rice and Spice Blog (http://riceandspice.wordpress.com/), who got it from Regan Daly’s In the Sweet Kitchen, on Cooks Illustrated (http://www.cooksillustrated.com/). Calls for apples, lemon juice, cinnamon, cornstarch, eggs for the filling, and a slightly more complicated recipe for the pie crust; flour, salt, sugar, leaf lard, Gryuère, and a whole lot of patience. We’ve been reassured, however, that the results are good enough to raise the dead. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Let's just lay this out: everything is candy. There was a river of chocolate, and the walls were flavored and designed to be licked. When you think about it -- or just overthink it -- it seems gross and unsanitary. Who really wants to drink the chocolate that people may have swam in, or that Oompa Loopmas sailed through? And who knows who's licked that wall before! But it's the novelty of it all, the whimsy, the magic, that Willy Wonka's chocolate factory is a sugar-coated dreamland. Have you ever walked into a candy store and just smelled it? That was their entire world. And it was exclusive. Besides Wonka himself, if you got into the factory at all, it was only because you'd received one of five golden tickets. However, it helps to not be a jerk. Because once inside the chocolate factory, there is a good possibility of getting into trouble, i.e. the aforementioned dunk in the chocolate river, swelling up into a giant blueberry, or disappearing into a TV. But get on Wonka's good side, and you will win a lifetime supply of the best chocolate that ever existed. (Actually, he'll still give you the chocolate, but not after you've been taught not to give into your vices.) The Hunger Games If you had nothing to go on but the title, you might be surprised to know that there is actually a ton of food in The Hunger Games. Indeed, the main character Katniss is somewhat obsessed with it, and rightfully so: her tireless illegal hunting and foraging has kept her mother and sister alive for five years, ever since she her father died in a mining accident when she was eleven. In Katniss' life, the most delicious morsels she comes across are traded to town officials who will look the other way for wild strawberries, herbs, fowl, venison and rabbit. A memorable meal in her house consists of things like dandelion salad, gifts of too-burnt-to-be-sold bread, and morsels of goat cheese wrapped in wild basil leaves. Until Katniss becomes a competitor in the Hunger Games, that is, and in what she assumes will be her last few weeks of life before she is savagely murdered by another teenage combatant, she is treated to the best food and drink that Disctrict 1 can offer a penniless scrabbler from Disctrict 12. And boy do Suzanne Collins' books love to talk about it. Fictionalfood.net has a nice assortment of Hunger Games themed recipes, from the simple fare of people who are just trying not to starve, to the decadent hearty dishes that Katniss finds so memorable. Our favorite is the recipe for District 11 bread, for obvious plot reasons that we won't get into for the sake of spoilers. SpongeBob SquarePants It is rare that a greasy patty of completely unspecified meat could seem so attractive. I'm not saying that we at The Mary Sue don't appreciate the merits of a juicy burger. There is, of course, a time and a place. We're just saying that a sit down restaurant with no table service whose employees are a passive aggressively rude cashier, a stereotypically dense frycook, and a manager who openly values even the smallest amounts of money over the health of his customers... doesn't usually inspire culinary devotion. And yet, there is a part of me that is very sad that, after all the hype, Krabby Patties remain unavoidably fictional in every way. I mean, just think of trying to figure out the ingredients: they're obviously not made of beef. At one point Spongebob Squarepants indicates that the majority of the patty may in fact be ground up plankton, but seeing as how plankton are sentient in the Spongebob setting, that was likely simply a ploy to shock Plankton, the maniacal owner of the Krusty Krab's biggest competitor. They're probably not made of crab either, though, since the founder of the business is one. The truth is almost as creepy, as I found when I tracked down the official recipe for Krabby Patties apparently from Nick.com, which lists their ingredients as including onion, celery, thyme, bread crumbs, dijon mustard, mayo, eggs, and frozen imitation crabmeat. So, yeah, Mr. Krabs doesn't want to actually cannibalize his own people... he just wants a simulation of it. The recipe also includes one cup of love, but the cooking instructions do not mention when it should be added to the burgers. Have a tip we should know? [email protected] Filed Under: A Song of Ice and FireCharlie and the Chocolate FactoryHarry Potter (franchise)HookPushing DaisiesRedwallSpongeBob SquarePantsStar Trek (franchise)The Hunger GamesThe Phantom Tollbooth Follow The Mary Sue: Previous PostNext Post Previous PostNext Post
