The Food Critic

The succulent plump thigh meat paired perfectly with the warm gooey blood, while the crunch of the bones added some much-needed texture and relief, thought Angus Loh as he carefully relished the meal before him. Looking up, he tried to share this carefully crafted food review with his dining buddy, but all that came out of his mouth was a deep growl. Something that went a little like

“RAAAUUURGH”. His partner looked up at him with a glazed look in his eyes before chomping down on a clump of intestines before him. What an idiot.

Sure, he was a zombie now, but Angus felt like he was still way more cultured than the others. After all, it was only four years ago that he was sitting in a fancy restaurant along Dempsey Hill and being served up a 7-course meal to review for The States Times food column. His friends always called him out for being overly critical when it came to food.  Angus thought otherwise. He felt that it was his responsibility to judge a restaurant in all aspects, from food to service, in order to ensure his readers will be able to make a well-informed decision.

Even though he was hungry all the time now and generally feasted on people’s flesh and organs in open car parks like the one he was in now, he was still able to tell a good meal from a bad one. This is why Angus always picked his victims. While his fellow zombies lacked the skills to differentiate good from bad, Angus always knew. It wasn’t the looks or body size that mattered. No.

Nothing tasted better than a true blue Singaporean foodie. Hawker centres were his usual stakeout areas. If there was a queue, even better. Those people that were queuing knew their stuff. Stomachs filled with wok-hei-filled hokkien mee and stir-fried oyster omelettes just tasted so much more satisfying than those filled with organic salads. Long queues at a food stall were a thing of the past though. Sadly, people were beginning to stay away from public areas such as these to avoid being attacked by zombies. How he missed those delicious walking meals.

Just then, his dining partner looked up at him and groaned, a deep belly groan. It was like he was trying to say, Angus, you’re a zombie now and beggars can’t be choosers. But he was wrong. Angus stared at the badge attached to his friend’s attire. Jia Bing, it read. Angus was unimpressed. What would a dead guy named Jia Bing know about fine dining and the pleasures of life? Before he could engage Jia Bing in another deep conversation about food, he heard a rustle behind him. Speaking of food…

It was a young woman, probably in her late twenties. Her eyes glimmered with anxiety as she scuttled across the open carpark towards the abandoned convenience store. With one hand gripping onto a hockey stick and the other a swimming kickboard, Angus guessed that she was either a swimmer or hockey player. Either way, she seemed to know how to protect herself, which was a shame. She looked like she would make a fine meal.

Both him and Jia Bing had snapped their heads in her direction the minute she had arrived, and raised their heads up at an optimal angle to take a whiff of her scent. Sweaty with a hint of sambal. Angus did love spicy food. Jia Bing was allergic to chilli though, but he was driven by his primal instincts and quickly got to his feet to slowly limp across. Angus swiftly swept Jia Bing to the ground with his feet. There was no way he was letting this uncultured imbecile enjoy fresh meat before he did.

Angus staggered across the carpark, eyes locked onto his target. She was currently distracted by a small group of crawlers. Angus called them crawlers, as that was all they could summon the energy to- crawl. It was just three lowlife zombies who were too lazy to run or even just walk for their food. And it wasn’t like they were physically handicapped. No, they had perfectly fine legs but were simply too slothful to make use of them. They were being crushed though by Miss Hockey Swimmer over there, who was now in the midst of smashing one of their heads in. They truly deserved the beating they got.

Now, all this was good for Angus, who could creep up behind her without her noticing. He had to hold back his guttural groan to attract any unwanted attention. It was going to be a close one. Just as he was about to take a bite from her beautifully plump ankles, Angus noticed something on the ground. It was a piece of crab pincer, all doused with a spicy and aromatic sambal sauce. He hadn’t seen anything quite like it in years. As he reached out for it, he felt a thwack on his head.

“No! Mine…” yelled Miss Hocker Swimmer in a furious frenzy, as she quickly stuffed the pincer into her plastic bag. As Angus rubbed his head, his eyes was drawn to the bag that seemed to contain more than just one sambal crab claw. That pincer really must have belonged to her. Before she could take another swing at Angus, he quickly pointed to the bag and managed a “chilli crab?”. This stunned the woman into silence.

“You speak?” she asked Angus, while raising her hockey stick to keep a safe distance and to remind him that she was not letting him off so easily.

Angus shook his head. Somehow, his weirdly diseased mind had allowed him to speak the dish that he had bore so close to his heart. He tried to explain to her that he was a lot more than the lowlife zombies she had encountered. But all that came out was another groan. He sighed, frustrated. He could really use a cup of “milo” right now.

“You did it again. Milo? You want milo?” Miss Hockey Swimmer’s eyebrows furrowed as she considered this odd specimen in front of her. Milo was her favourite drink. A simple malt beverage, this was something she had vowed to stock up on ever since the world went to shit.

Angus was extremely surprised by the words coming out of his mouth. It appeared that he could utter anything relating to food. He looked up and thought he would try it again. “Miloo?”

This was when Miss Hockey Swimmer let her guard down as she unzipped her bag and shakily offered him a bag of 3-in-1 milo powder. Angus smiled at this generous gesture, the first in a long time, before he reached and chomped her hand right off, along with the milo powder.