You must not eat the blood of any living creature, for the blood of every living creature is its life. Whoever eats blood must be cut off.
—Bible, "Genesis"
"This isn't wine."
After taking a sip from the goblet, Mills said.
"It's a mixture of separated pig's blood and tomato juice." Antony studied Mills's expression carefully. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mills. Do you refuse to drink blood?"
"Your cooking is really dark." Mills shrugged and drained the pig's blood from his glass.
The side dish after the appetizer was licorice-smoked salmon. The Celts of the British Isles had a habit of drinking blood, and fish and potatoes were what left the deepest impression in British cuisine.
The cold-smoked salmon carried the fragrance of licorice, blended with the tender, plump texture of the fish. It practically melted in the mouth. The mashed potatoes with cream were sprinkled with basil leaves, giving off an especially comforting scent.
"Dark, but delicious. Many people call dark magic 'Dark Art.' To them, dark magic isn't evil—it's an art, like my table." Antony looked at the table before them, decorated with horns and fruit. "One guest said it looked like Nero's banquet."
"Seriously, this is the most extravagant setting I've ever seen. Do you eat like this every day?"
"What do you usually eat, Mr. Mills? Do you cook for yourself?"
"No. Why go through all that trouble when you're alone?"
"In my view, eating alone gives you even more time to enjoy the process of cooking and plating. When you immerse yourself in it, you no longer feel that loneliness." Antony refilled Mills's glass with pig's blood and tomato juice from the crystal decanter. "As I said earlier, sex is not a necessary desire. People arrange candlelit dinners not to please themselves, but to please their