How long ago did I start this story? Well, let's 
just note that, until five minutes ago, the 
"Copyright" bit down there had "1995" written 
after it. Yikes! Pre-Ziyal, pre-Leeta (thank the 
gods). The happier times, when we fans of G/B 
could safely turn on our show and watch the 
lovesick pair give each other chocolates. 

Alas. 

I always did mean to post this story, and I 
offer it now, finally finished, to all of you 
who heave a collective sigh of disgust (or 
perhaps just *heave*) when a scene on the show 
opens on Leeta's cleavage. I'm not sure when I 
intended it to take place, except that I allude 
to that "Herman's Head" episode, "Distant 
Voices," so let's put it right after that. It's 
probably PG-13, only because our society is 
homophobic in general. Just some wholesome m/m 
romance involving food. 

Paramount owns Deep Space Nine and the 
characters; I just think it's fun to sit around 
and write about them... Unlike Quark's cousin, 
the one who owns the moon, I'm not in this for 
profit. 

Haute Cuisine 
by Hannah R. Henriksson 
feedback to hannah1971@aol.com
more fiction at http://members.aol.com/hannah1971 
Copyright 1997 

Julian Bashir almost had begun to get used to 
the tsking sounds that always came from his 
lunch companion, but today, for some reason, the 
chiding noise set his nerves on edge. He stopped 
his fork in midair and faced the source of the 
annoying sound. 

"Will you please stop that, Garak?" he moaned, 
letting the exasperation he felt take hold of 
his face as he glared into the eyes of the 
tailor. "What is it that I'm doing wrong now?" 
The Cardassian sitting across from Julian in the 
Replimat merely smiled at the outburst. 
Perfectly timed. It was so easy to get under the 
young human's skin--a pleasant diversion in an 
otherwise tedious day. He purposefully filled 
his face with disdain as he slowly looked down 
at the plate in front of Bashir and then spoke 
precisely. 

"One would think, Doctor Bashir, that after 
eating lunch together regularly for so long, you 
might have learned to follow my example and slow 
down." Garak's eyes moved back up Julian's lean 
torso to meet his exasperated expression. "We've 
been here for fifteen minutes and you're 
nearly done. Now, I know you enjoy talking to 
me; do you eat so fast so you can have a captive 
audience?" The innocent look in his face was 
perfectly ... practiced. 

Julian glanced at the plate on the other side of 
the table and sighed. It was still more than 
half full. He knew it bothered Garak that he ate 
so quickly--it was a sign of rudeness in his 
friend's culture. 

"I'm sorry, Garak, but really--I've been trying 
to eat more slowly..." He shrugged and began to 
toy with the few bites of spinach that were left 
on his plate. Julian prided himself on being 
sensitive to other cultures' habits, and he did 
hate it that he continually bothered his friend 
by bolting down his food. Old habits died hard, 
he supposed. 

The tailor continued to observe the young man 
across the table, drinking in the charming 
little pout that had spread over Julian's face. 
So like a shamed child. Garak silently gave 
thanks for having found such a compelling friend 
in the middle of this wretched station, and 
decided to give Bashir just a few more moments 
of penance before putting him at ease. 
The moments passed much more quickly for Garak 
than they did for Julian. Finally Garak 
brightened. "I have an idea." He watched as the 
sparks returned to the brown eyes facing him. 
"Why don't I give you a lesson... in how to 
eat." 

Julian froze just long enough for Garak to raise 
his eyebrows. 

"I know how to eat, Garak--my mother saw to that 
when I was about a year old." He was smiling, 
though, and Garak could see the idea wasn't an 
uninteresting one. 

"Well, your mother must have been in a terrible 
hurry, hmmm? Why don't you come to my 
quarters for dinner--tomorrow night--and I'll 
show you how to slow down..." 

A small smile turned up the corners of the 
doctor's mouth, and he leaned back in his chair. 
"And how do you propose to do that?" 

"Ah, Doctor," the Cardassian replied, searching 
for, finding, and misquoting an appropriate 
Human proverb. "If this old dog can't teach you 
a new trick, then what good am I?" 

*** 

Julian Bashir left the Replimat with an odd 
feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had, of 
course, ended up talking Garak's ear off for the 
remainder of their break--certainly one of the 
better rewards of always finishing his meal so 
quickly. But a few times he had looked away from 
the table to recognize a friend or former 
patient across the room, and when he had turned 
back, the blue eyes of his lunch companion and 
old friend had been observing him very intently. 
It was a little disquieting, but intriguing as 
well. Julian wondered what the tailor had in 
mind for his lesson. 

*** 

Garak was lighting the last of the candles in 
his quarters when the computer announced the 
arrival of his guest. 

Julian stepped into the dark room and surveyed 
the surroundings, nodding favorably. It was dark 
and sparsely furnished, but warm. He had 
anticipated the increased temperature that 
Cardassians favored, and had worn a 
short-sleeved ivory linen shirt and deep brown 
trousers that drew attention to rather than 
detracted from his olive-toned skin. The subtle 
illumination from the candles was a welcome 
break from the bright lighting in the infirmary. 
He took Garak's proffered hands as a welcome, 
and admired the silver tunic that his host was  
wearing for the occasion. 

"Thank you for coming, Julian. You know, it may 
be hard to believe, but you're my first real 
dinner guest..." 

Julian actually did believe it; the exile, 
though having grown on a few other residents, 
had hardly befriended any of them. The doctor 
was often unself-consciously grateful that Garak 
had reached out for him. No one should be 
totally alone. 

Garak gestured the Human to move further into 
the room, and as he did so, Julian got a better 
look at the contents of the bowls and plates 
that covered every available flat surface. 
The nearest bowl, a small one made of a dark 
hardwood, contained a half-dozen cherry 
tomatoes. Julian raised his eyebrow at the Earth 
food, and then inspected several other wood 
and metal bowls in the vicinity. Each contained 
one type of food, and almost all of them were 
from Earth. 

"Garak," Julian admonished cheerfully, 
impermanent lines appearing above his dark eyes. 

"You've really gone overboard. You can't expect 
we're going to eat all this, can you?" He 
reached into the tomato-filled bowl, but was 
rebuffed by a quick poke and an echo of the 
previous day's chastising look. 

"Doctor, practice some self-control." Garak 
shrugged. "As for eating all of this, we can 
always try, can't we?" 

"I'll never know what to expect from you, will 
I?" Julian sighed. "Well, I suppose this is one 
of the more pleasant surprises you've subjected 
me to. Where do we start?" 

"You may have a seat--over there is fine," the 
tailor answered, waving a hand in the direction 
of a large cushion in the middle of the floor. 

"You needn't worry about a thing, Doctor. I'll 
take care of it," he insisted as he watched the 
Human sit cross-legged on the gold cushion. 

"So, is there a significance to sitting on the 
floor while eating, Garak? A Cardassian ritual, 
perhaps?" 

"Yes, Doctor Bashir, a very important Cardassian 
ritual," he stared down at the man seriously. 

"The Sacred Rite of Having Used Up All Other 
Available Space..." He smiled at the chuckle 
that echoed through the room. 

Julian realized as Garak sat a short distance 
from him that there were both rhyme and 
reason to the seeming jumble of bowls and plates 
around the room. From the Cardassian's spot 
on his cushion, he could reach everything with 
only a small amount of effort. Garak's innate 
ability to make carefully planned situations 
seem careless was fascinating to Julian; he 
wondered if that skill was what made Garak such 
an excellent tailor. 

"Wine, Julian?" A glass was placed in his hand, 
and Julian smiled to hear his given name being 
used. Garak only used it when he felt 
particularly secure. 

"No kanaar tonight?" he asked, the humor warming 
his voice. 

"Cabernet Sauvignon, actually. Kanaar is best 
after a meal, Julian. Haven't I taught you that 
yet?" 

"Maybe I wouldn't stop talking," Bashir griped, 
only half-joking. "That seems to be what we're 
here to fix..." Garak turned away from tending 
to one of the bowls to observe the outburst, and 
Julian blushed. 

"A trifle sensitive, my dear young doctor?" 
Garak reached for the bowl with the cherry 
tomatoes. "I only seek to educate you--I thought 
you Humans prided yourself on your desire to 
learn new things..." 

"I'm sorry. I suppose I don't take criticism 
very well." Julian looked around and realized 
that from his vantage point he couldn't see the 
contents of any of the other bowls. "But I'm 
here now, so teach me, however you propose to do 
that." 

"Close your eyes." 

"What?" 

"Close your eyes," Garak repeated. 

"Why?" The Human felt an immediate desire to 
obey the request, but years of Star Fleet 
Medical had taught him to ask all the necessary 
questions up front. 

"Doctor, I'm your friend, not your patient. 
Trust me..." 

Julian kept his eyes riveted to Garak for any 
outward indication of his intentions. That was, 
of course, futile--no former Obsidian Order 
operative was going to betray his thoughts with 
a facial expression. 

"I thought you applauded me for not trusting 
you, like when I was injured and had that dream 
about you ... You said I was learning..." 

Garak harrumphed impatiently. "Well, unlearn it 
for one evening, Julian, and close your eyes. 
How do you expect to eat all this food if we 
don't get started?" He still cradled the bowl of 
tomatoes in his lap, and along with the silver 
outfit wore a studiously bland expression. 

"All right, Garak, I'll close my eyes," he said 
quietly, doing just so for a moment, but then 
peeking out between long lashes. "However, if 
you're planning on poisoning me, do me the 
courtesy of letting my mother know. She'll need 
time to find a nice black dress..." 

"Don't worry. I can make her one." Garak watched 
the dark eyes close again. It appeared as 
though the young man were meditating... or 
preparing for death. Either way, a lovely sight. 

"Open your mouth," the Cardassian instructed 
quietly, and after swallowing once, Julian did. 
He felt the small tomato being placed on his 
tongue, and the radiating heat of the hand that 
placed it there. As soon as the heat trailed 
away, he bisected the round fruit with his 
teeth. He felt the seeds explode out of the 
center, and the slick juice course over his 
tongue. The tart taste overwhelmed his already 
heightened senses, and he felt his stomach 
respond to the tantalizing promise of food. 

Garak saw the slow smile spread over Julian's 
face, and marvelled at his easy responsiveness. 
"Now, isn't that enjoyable, my dear doctor?" The 
smile turned down a notch in intensity, and the 
Cardassian prepared himself for the necessary 
rebuttal. 

"Certainly, it was a lovely tomato, Garak. Is 
that what you wanted to share with me?" Despite 
the nonchalant tone, however, Julian didn't open 
his eyes. He sipped from his wine glass. 

"Oh, not entirely, Julian. Do keep your eyes 
closed. It will allow you to fully appreciate 
the taste and texture of the foods you're 
sampling..." Garak gently returned the bowl of 
cherry tomatoes to their place on the table, and 
retrieved another bowl. He watched the certainty 
melt deliciously from the tanned Human face. 
"That was the last taste you'll be 
expecting--from now on you'll have to be 
surprised. Open your mouth." 

The corner of Julian's mouth turned up again and 
he shook his head in mild exasperation, but he 
complied. He realized what a strange sensation 
it was to have unexpected things put in his 
mouth. He felt a small object being placed on 
his tongue, about the same size as the tomato, 
but with an irregular shape and rough texture. 
He bit into it less assuredly this time, and 
discovered a lightly sweet taste, another fruit, 
but firm in the middle. The tanginess of it was 
fleeting. 

"A strawberry. Garak, you're making this so 
easy," he scoffed. 

"Keep your eyes closed, Doctor. It's not a quiz, 
after all. I just want you to fully experience 
the food you are eating, not to pass it by like 
an unpleasant chore.  What does the strawberry 
taste like?" 

Julian paused, and a frown crossed his brow. 
"It's a strawberry, Garak. It's sweet and fruity 
and ... strawberry-tasting. It's ..." 

"*Strawberry*-tasting? Oh, my dear ... doctor," 
Garak said with exaggerated impatience. "You 
can do better than that." 

Julian shook his head slowly, but almost at once 
understanding brushed his expression. 

"It's ... it tastes like summertime. On Earth. 
That's when all the organically grown berries 
are available. My aunt in Surrey used to make 
strawberry shortcakes when I would visit her." 
He snorted. 

"That's an odd response to a pleasant memory, 
Julian." Garak's voice broke through the 
recollection. 

"It's just that my obnoxious cousin Shefali 
always used to whack me in the head and take the 
best strawberries off the top of my cake before 
I knew--literally--what hit me. She did it two 
summers in a row, before I outgrew her and was 
able to steal back all the ones she had taken 
from me..." Julian smiled, not aware that the 
expression was mirrored on his host. 

Garak observed him for a moment, and then asked, 
"So, what do the strawberries taste like, 
Julian?" 

Another snort. "Victory." He paused for a 
moment. "Can I have another?" The Cardassian 
complied. 

After cleansing his palate with the wine he 
still held, the next bowl was produced with less 
formality, and Julian began to find that the 
wait between the tastes had its own particular 
flavor: Anticipation. This time a warm, savory 
taste exploded from his tongue.  Garak waited 
expectantly. 

"Mushroom, marinated in ... what? Garlic? It has 
to be garlic. Garak, since when do you know 
how to fix foods like this?" Still squeezing his 
eyes shut, he reached out for the departing hand 
and grasped it lightly, enjoying the sensation 
of rough skin against his own smooth flesh. 
"Have you been doing research in your spare 
time?" He felt the hand clutch back. 

The voice that answered him was quieter. "What 
does the mushroom taste like, Julian?" A soft 
breath. "And don't tell me that it tastes 
mushroomy." The hand evaded Bashir's grasp. 

Julian's lips tightened. Perhaps he had gone a 
bit too far. "Oh ... brown," he said finally. 
"It tastes brown. I think mushrooms are just 
about the brownest-tasting food ever." 

"And..." Garak watched Julian's lips intently. 

"What else?" 

"The garlic ... tastes like my first year at 
Star Fleet Medical. I had this girlfriend who 
loved to cook ... " He wrinkled his nose. "She 
put garlic in everything. She used to like to 
remind me that it's used as an aphro--" He 
stopped, and the lips tightened again. A puzzled 
frown settled on his face. "She said it had 
wonderful curative powers--at least the ancients 
said it did." 

"And you didn't find that was the case?" Garak 
cradled the next bowl in his lap, expertly 
reading the hesitation in his friend's 
expression. 

"I didn't care. It was nice having someone cook 
for me." Julian lifted his hands from his 
thighs, which were still crossed in front of 
him, and leaned back on them, pulling his 
midsection into a casual stretch. "It still is. 
Can I have another strawberry?" He brightened at 
the amused chortle that came from somewhere in 
front of him. 

"No." Garak leaned forward, observing the 
candlelight flicker across the young man's face. 
The muscles there had smoothed; Julian was 
relaxing under the unusual circumstances. "Are 
you glad that I'm cooking for you, Doctor? If 
you'd call it cooking, anyway..." 

"Absolutely. This is far more enjoyable than the 
Replimat, Garak." 

"Mmmm..." came the noncommittal reply. 

"Garak?" 

"Yes?" 

"Are you not eating anything?" 

Garak bit the inside of his lower lip, gauged 
the level of curiosity lining Julian's forehead, 
and decided to tell the truth. "Actually, I ate 
earlier." 

"Garak! Why didn't you tell me?" Julian pulled 
up from leaning on his arms and hunched forward 
aggressively, but to the Cardassian's delight he 
still didn't open his eyes. 

"Doctor, I wanted to be here for you. This is 
your education, after all. Think of me as ... as 
your teacher. I ate earlier so I wouldn't be 
distracted." He found the obedience in the 
closed lids utterly appealing, and noted with 
amusement that he was becoming more and more 
distracted as the evening progressed. He cleared 
his throat. "Now, do you wish to continue or 
not?" 

Julian leaned back again, satisfied for the 
time, but the curiosity exuding from him didn't 
wane. He didn't quite return to the relaxed 
position he had taken before. "Yes, I wish to 
continue. I'm still hungry," he whined. 

"That's something soon to be taken care of," 
replied the tailor. "Open your mouth." 
Julian smelled lemon before he felt what was 
being placed on his tongue next. The smooth, 
comforting caress of butter, and a short, thin 
stalk with a pointed head. His tongue encircled 
the tip, and he felt the spiralling nubs 
pressing into him. He bit down into the tender 
reed, and felt fine threads separating across 
his teeth. The echo of butter and lemon 
penetrated his senses as an involuntary purr 
rang through his throat. 

The vibrations of the pleasured sound forced a 
shudder through Garak, who leaned forward to 
take a closer look at the Human's reaction. 

"Asparagus, Doctor," he explained unnecessarily. 
"I take it that you're fond of it." 

For the first time the slow smile that appeared 
on the young man's face offered a trace of 
sensuality. "I'm quite fond of asparagus, 
Garak." 

"What does it make you think of?" 

"It makes me think of what I need to do to 
convince you to give me the whole plate of it. 
Right now." Julian reached out blindly for the 
plate that Garak held off to his side. "Don't 
tease me." 

"Don't tease *you*?" the tailor repeated archly. 
"With that wanton sound that just escaped your 
throat, I'm forced to wonder whether *you're* 
teasing me..." Garak realized too late that his 
voice didn't carry the correct equation of 
casualness and humor. It sounded more like a 
growl. 

After a moment, he pulled the plate of thin 
green vegetables back in front of him, placing 
it in Julian's questing hands. "Here you go, 
Doctor." He watched as a look that he couldn't 
hope to be disappointment settled onto Julian's 
features. 

"Garak...," the younger man breathed. "I'm 
really enjoying this tremendously. Don't stop 
yet."  He handed the plate back over to his 
friend, and pulled the cushion and himself 
closer. 

After considering it for a minute, Garak gave 
in, and for a long while hand-fed asparagus tips 
to Julian, who accepted them enthusiastically. 
They spoke of rare foods, flavors, and memories, 
and Julian stopped thinking about opening his 
eyes... 

While in his unseeing state, he reached a hand 
out to touch Garak's knee while making a 
particularly vociferous point in his 
conversation, and later circled his wrist while 
another piece of butter-and-lemon-coated 
asparagus was placed on his tongue. He smiled at 
the light touch of warm fingertips on his cheek. 
Finally, the last piece of asparagus was 
devoured, and unbeknownst to Julian, Garak 
mirrored the frown of disappointment Julian had 
on his own face. 

"Well, now--it's definitely worth remembering 
that asparagus has such a strong effect on you, 
Doctor," the tailor sighed. "It's so odd that 
you Humans speed through eating as if it were 
unpleasant but have such strong responses to 
food." He lifted a piece of breadstick and 
placed it between Julian's lips. 

After finishing the breadstick, Julian had had 
enough. He reached out to draw Garak's hand away 
from the plate, and into his lap. 
"Why don't you tell me what this lesson was 
really all about, Garak ... ," Julian suggested 
mildly, lightly stroking the back of the scaled 
hand with his fingertips. "You didn't choose 
those foods randomly, did you?" 

Garak noted with pleasure that the young man's 
eyes were still closed, and he leaned in slowly. 
"Why Julian, what do you mean?" 

"Asparagus ... garlic ... strawberries ... 
They've all been considered aphrodisiacs on 
Earth since ancient times." He chuckled. "I 
mean, just the shape of the asparagus should 
tell you something." 

"Julian ... " Garak could see warm color rising 
to the younger man's face. 

"What?" 

"There's one more thing I want you to taste. 
Don't open your eyes just yet." 
Julian sighed deeply, a tension-relieving technique 
that almost always worked, and would have worked this 
time if it hadn't been interrupted by a kiss. 

"Garak ... " Julian began a few minutes later. 

"Yes, Julian." 

"Did you truly believe it would take aphrodisiacs to 
make me want this?" 

A long silence ensued. Plates and bowls were pushed 
aside. And this time Julian found Garak's mouth. 

"Julian?" Garak finally responded. 

"Yes."  

"What do I taste like?" 

Julian punctuated his response with kisses. 
"Strawberries. Mushrooms. Asparagus. ... And perhaps 
just a hint of love." 

And, perhaps not surprisingly, Julian didn't open his 
eyes until the next morning. 

THE END 
(and I miss you, Garak and Julian Bashir!) 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 
Warburton, Diana. A-Z of Aprodisia. London: Quartet 
Books, 1986.


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