The last time I cooked for The One Percent it took some doing. But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and by goodness there was a will. After Roland J Dump’s catastrophic loss in the 2024 election the world whipped itself into the long awaited backlash.
It very quickly turned to bloodshed. A naked, snivelling Dump was gunned down in the street, blasted by an old man with six shooters. Pow pow pow, Josey Wales style, and cheered on by crowds lining the streets and viewers around the globe. It would take cooler blood to deal with the enablers, but in the meantime his supporters were forced from their country clubs, golf clubs and shooting galleries. They were beaten, ripped, dragged, sliced, diced and blown to their bloody ends.
In a nod to Margaret Atwood, some had pinned the offenders to a high wall. And it got me thinking. The time was right. People had seen the light. The change had come, and, given that you can only be certain of two things in this life, I thought it a good idea to get on with the second inevitability.
My plan was audacious, it was bold. It was also fun. And it seemed so right. No one I spoke to from the Ninety-nine percent was anything but wildly enthusiastic. They were ready to drop everything to come and help. It didn't take long before I was turning people away.
I knew that neither the corralling nor the construction would be easy so we needed to make a start.
We began by beheading the heads, ha! of the worldwide car industry and got straight on with production - pickup trucks with cattle bars, machine gun turrets and special harnesses for the lassoers (yes, that is a word).
The idea was that the machine guns were to be used on anyone attempting to protect The One Percent, whilst the lassos were for rounding up those lucky few. Once herded, they were accompanied to China and attached.
The calculations were done. Just over 21,000 kilometres at an average height of 7.8 metres meant we had 163,800,000 square metres to play with.
The average surface area of a male human is 18,000 cm sq and 16,000 cm sq for a female so I worked to an average of 17,000. Obviously the children would be less. Given that the front of the body (it wouldn’t do to have them facing the wall) was about two fifths of the total, I calculated 6,800 cm sq was needed for each one. That meant we could fit 240,882,352 on the wall. The One Percent only totalled 78,000,000, which meant we could fit them all comfortably, and given their penchant for comfort and luxury, I thought it would be nice if they had the space they deserved this one last time. No hard feelings and all that.
Construction of the rollercoaster got under way. High off the ground and running its length, it would follow the wall’s ups and downs, its curves and contours. We wanted to keep things local so we decided on bamboo - strong, resilient, not to mention eco-friendly. The aim? A twenty-one thousand kilometre ride, complete with Minigun carriages.
As I say, support for a new world order was so great, the thirst for true levelling up so acute, that it wasn’t long before the end was in sight. Which meant it was time for me to think about food. I spoke to the gunners and they all said they wanted some kind of handheld food. So, a focaccia with sweet ham, roast cherry tomatoes, rocket and stracchino? Nods all round.
I know what you are thinking. What about The One Percent? Won’t they get peckish? Don't worry, I hadn’t forgotten them.
I got going with the focacce, dissolving 15 grammes of fresh yeast and 20 grammes of salt in 780 grammes of warm water with 50 grammes of olive oil. I stirred this around and added it to a kilo of 00 flour. I mixed it all together, covered it for an hour, then stretched and folded it. Half an hour later, I stretched and folded it again, then once again half an hour after that. Each time, I added a little more oil - I didn't need to, but I did. Then, after a final stretch, I covered it again and put it in the fridge overnight.
In the morning, I poured it onto an oiled tray and pulled it out to the corners. I re-covered it and switched the oven on to 220ºc with the fan. When the oven was up to heat, I removed the cover, pronged the surface with the tips of my fingers, gave it a final squirt of oil and baked it for 10 minutes. Then I turned the oven down to 200 and baked it for 30 minutes more. I took it out, gloried at its golden beauty and set it aside to cool, whilst I got the filling bits ready.
When the focaccia was at the right temperature, warm but not hot, I sliced it open, spread the stracchino and laid out the ham. I dotted the roasted cherry tomatoes about and finished it with the rocket and yet more oil. A flick of Maldon and a grind of pepper and then I was ready to repeat the whole process till I had enough for my six hundred and sixty six gunners.
Fortunately, the finished focacce coincided with the rollercoaster being completed and the last of The One Percent being rounded up and pinned to the Great Wall of China.
And so, the day of reckoning had arrived. Cameras were poised. The crowd was impressive. As well as the event being broadcast live across the world, there were big screens all the way along the route so no one needed to miss out. All kinds of food were available for the public including some cold beers and ice creams. Nice ones in cones, but you could get a little cup with a tiny spoon if you preferred. The mood was buoyant, cheerful, optimistic.
The spectacle began at the finish point with a Mexican wave that ran up the whole length. When it reached the start, two days later, fireworks exploded and the gunners set off.
The carriages zipped along their tracks to cheering crowds and Miniguns spewedtheir gifts at a rate of threee thousand rounds per minute.
The noise was astounding, the carnage appalling, but the blood? My God, the blood.
As the gunners ate, the clearers tossed the crumbs to The One Percent, but they didn't seem to notice. Mainly because they were dead.
A few meagre crumbs? Plenty, I think. It's more than we get.
Lovely. Would it be enough though ? The vittles that is, the retribution seems adequate.