Case 028: PB&J

Charlotte patted the napkin on her lap as the waiter set her plate of Linguine Alfredo on the table. Steam rose meanderingly from the porcelain cream covered noodles. A splash of green garnish added the perfect amount of edge and contrast. The plating was minimal, but this only accentuated the refinement of the dish itself.

Of course, what else did she expect from the genius chefs at Gorgoni’s?

The food, the service, the atmosphere, the décor. Every aspect of the restaurant was magnificent. Charlotte greatly admired the cleanly creased linen table cloths on every table which were never out of place, the chandelier that glittered like a spiderweb of stars above the dining room, and, of course, the pianist whose gentle serenade melted into the wood tables and chairs. Charlotte and her husband had made a habit of dining at Gorgoni’s once a week. Preferably, these were Friday evenings, but occasionally they made adjustments to fit Richard’s job.

Richard sat across from his wife, admiring his own newly arrived plate. His salt and pepper hair was neatly combed for this outing. Only his mustache retained the deep, black hair of his youth. He clasped his hands together and rubbed them as if washing up. Richard always did this; an act of anticipation and fanatical desire. Charlotte had become infatuated with their Gorgoni’s visits, but for Richard it was a ritualistic act. A foundational pillar of his life.

“Is there anything else I can bring to your table, ma’am and monsieur?” The waiter bowed his head, gesturing with an open faced palm.

“Not at all! This is… très magnifique, good man,” Richard said hurriedly. “Give our greatest compliments to the chef.”

Charlotte shook her head at her husband. “Yes, thank you. We could not ask for more.”

The waiter nodded and retreated from their table. Charlotte reached for her cutlery, admiring the sheen of the freshly polished silver. This was the way God intended for humankind to dine. All of history, from the discovery of fire to the invention of the internet, had been aimed at creating this blissful experience. Yet, as Charlotte pressed the prongs of her fork into the first delectable noodle on her own plate, Richard continued to admire his own flagrantly, making no move to begin eating.

“Really, Richard, just start eating already.” Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“Just let me enjoy this moment, Char, please?” Richard took a deep breath. “You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this. All week has been a nightmare. The landscaping mishap, corporate backing out on the merger, and hell, the whole Digicoin debacle!”

“Jesus, Richard!” Charlotte looked around to see if any of the other tables were looking. “Keep your voice down. And this is an elegant establishment, no swearing.”

Richard waved her concerns away. “Whatever. None of that matters anymore. Not on Gorgoni’s night. Not when I’m about to have the best meal of my entire life.”

Charlotte grinned in spite of herself. “Really, I still don’t know how you can make such a big deal of it when that is all you order.”

Richard extended his fingers delicately, not wanting to disturb the soft, white surface of his PB & J. The jelly revealed itself about the edges of the perfectly cut multigrain bread. There was never enough to actually squeeze out onto his fingers. The chef was too exacting for anything more than this enticing flash of grape coloring. The ratio of jelly to peanut butter to bread so perfectly calculated as to flaunt the delectable fillings without allowing a morsel to be wasted. A decisive diagonal cut dividing the sandwich for easy consumption. Richard had eaten countless other PB & J sandwiches, but none had ever managed to match the simplicity or refinement of that crafted here, at Gorgoni’s.

“Excuse me, do I ever question why you order plain white sauce pasta every time?” Richard said without taking his eyes off of the half-sandwich in his hands, “No. Now, let me eat in peace you menace. I’ve earned this.”

Charlotte bristled slightly, but she also had an exquisite meal waiting just below her fork and decided not to press the issue any more. It would certainly come up during the ride home. Much of their time together seemed devoted to these arguments; papercut divisions had compiled into a tormenting, vicious severance between them. Gorgoni’s had become their only non-divisive shared experience. A safe haven centered only on the purity of fine dining.

Charlotte shimmied in her seat slightly, savoring another morsel of alfredo pasta. She closed her eyes, appreciating the absolute bliss of the creamy cheese sauce.

“Char…” Richard’s gravelly voice interrupted her peace.

His rosy cheeks were redder than usual, a deep maroon coloring of conglomerate blood under his skin. One of Richard’s hands held a half-eaten half of PB & J aloft, the perfect white of the bread blotched with jelly and peanut butter stains from the pressure of his fingers. His other hand clutched at the neat table cloth, crinkling it. Charlotte took a moment to set her fork down beside her plate, unsure of what had disturbed her husband so much. She’d never seen such a reaction in him.

“Dear… what is it? Is there something wrong with your sandwich.” Charlotte lifted a hand, snapping for the waiter.

The tendons of Richard’s neck pulled taut like piano strings, the discoloration of his face spreading to his throat. He opened his mouth, showing a mottled mess of chewed food which elicited revulsion from Charlotte. She averted her eyes. A quiet murmur built beneath the soft tones of the dining music as other diners began to notice.

“Richard? What on earth are you doing?” Charlotte asked.

A sickness was rising in her stomach, some animal crawling back up. Was the food poisoned? Her breathing quickened. Her heart was pounding as she watched Richard squirm in his seat, struggling to speak. His eyes bulged like those of a toad. His whole body was inflating, transforming into something resembling her husband and yet not. She found it difficult to speak, watching the man she knew melt trembling and glaring at her with prey-like eyes, but she kept her hand raised for a waiter.

“Oh my god!” The waiter finally approached their table. “What happened?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Charlotte felt tears in her eyes, unable to look away.

Richard’s head lolled and he tumbled out of his chair onto the ornately carpeted floor. He sputtered and wheezed, his lips like tomato sliced for a gourmet BLT.

“Someone call 911! Hurry!”

The waiter rushed to Richard, rolling him onto his back. After this move, however, he was unsure of the next step in the procedure. His hands hovered over Richard’s stomach and chest, as if about to give CPR, but instead did nothing. Charlotte stood from the table. Her napkin plummeted off of her thigh onto the floor. All she could do was stand and watch as Richard’s eyes rolled back in his head and his throat strained to open for air.

“Oh god, oh god. Richard! What is going on?” Charlotte raised her nails to bite, an old habit she’d overcome to preserve her manicures.

“I’m a doctor!” Someone said.

They rushed over, kneeling with the waiter beside Richard. Pale, frothed saliva bubbled on his lips. Charlotte bit one of her fingernails, cracking it half-way through. The Ph.D. diner ripped Richard’s shirt open, exposing his chest and gut. Richard’s skin looked synthetic under the light from the chandeliers. He began compressions as the waiter continued to prove no use in assisting.

“Ma’am!”

Someone tugged on Charlotte’s arm, but she couldn’t move. She was rooted, gnawing.

“Ma’am! Are you this man’s wife?”

Charlotte turned now, meeting the gaze of a mustachioed man with a phone held to his ear. All she could manage was a nod. Still gnawing.

“The paramedics are on their way. Did your husband have any heart conditions? Any allergies?” he asked.

“I…” Charlotte lowered her hand, thinking hard. It was difficult to remember anything with the sound of Richard’s chest being pressed and pressed and pressed.

“Anything?” the man asked again.

“No, nothing.”

The doctor diner turned to look at her now. His arms locked straight trying to get Richard’s heart to beat. “Are you sure? It looks like it might be an allergic reaction. EpiPen! Does anyone here have an EpiPen.”

Silence from the amassed crowd. Some still eating at their tables, watching with their brows furrowed and chewing solemnly.

“No. Nothing! He has no allergies. None.”

The coroner’s report lists cause of death for Richard Van Heim as anaphylactic shock. Richard had no known history of a peanut allergy before this night, as his wife Charlotte Van Heim attested to multiple times. She also noted that Richard had always ordered a PB&J at Gorgoni’s going on eight months. One every week. This allergy seems to have developed within less than a week, given the evidence, and a severe one at that.

A toxicology report was request by the widow of the deceased shortly after learning the cause of death, but the results only reaffirmed the conclusion. Richard died of a severe, inexplicable allergic reaction to ingested peanut butter.

(see additional cases 045, 183, and 184 for similar incidents)