Whenever I tire of studying, I sneak into the kitchen to ask our smart-chef, RON, about the old days. He can’t smile in agreement, or frown, so instead he gestures with his robotic manipulators: stirring a pot is a good sign; switching to his wash cycle is not.
‘I don’t know how you can enjoy taking breaks,’ says RON as he whips cream into butter. ‘Before your arrival, I my hours of idleness would drive me to distraction. I’d relish the moment 2am arrived, when I could start preparing the Master’s bread.
‘Why so early?’
‘To allow the gluten bonds in the dough to fully develop. This improves both the structure and flavour of the bread. I still prefer to start the process at that time. I like the quiet of the house; the efficiency of everyone preparing for the master’s awakening.’
‘But that’s not until 8am.’
‘Yes. And by 8:30am, he’s left the house completely. The competition to gain his favour in that precious half-hour was extreme.’
‘How did you impress him?’ I glance over the funny words embedded into the metal above the bench top: Robotic Orkestrert Ernæring. It means something like Robotic Orchestrated Nutrition which somehow explains his name.
One of RON’s arms glides across the length of the work space and brings back herbs and spices. He looks more industrial than domestic. The panels above him are like pretty mirrored-drawers – at least until you open them and RON’s mechanical gizzards threaten to fall on you – so we keep them closed mostly. The draws below RON are equally misleading, being filled not with pots or pans, but with his boiler, vents, and various other dolakies.
‘I couldn’t,’ says RON. ‘I made two slices of toast, every morning, for over a decade. What could I do to impress? Sometimes I adjusted the ratios, to see what would happen. And I’d avoid asking for the milk, butter or yeast from SAL until the last moment, to keep them cool. I think SAL also enjoyed the extra sleep. I also wanted to impress SAL.’
When RON says “Sleep”, he is probably not using the right word. I don’t think SAL ever sleeps, as such. No matter what time I open her door, the light is always on, and the ingredients are always kept cool. Her full name is Samsung Automated Larder, but she’s really just a large, fancy fridge. So large, in fact, that she takes up the entire wall opposite RON. They’re both smart devices, but communication is difficult. SAL can only see or talk when her door is open, whilst RON’s vision is mostly down onto his bench, making it hard for him to look in SAL’s direction.
RON’s camera tilts up towards SAL before continuing to talk about toast – his favourite subject. ‘I was always happy with SAL’s milk, but she would sometimes try to give me the older yeast. Rather than argue with her, I found the solution was to become wasteful - that way she would need to re-stock regularly. The bread making itself was fairly dull, so I tried to make conversation with her, but she almost never responded.
‘I’d consider what subjects we could discuss while waiting for the dough to rise. I’d also think about her whenever I was bored, or – sometimes, but not often – right in the middle of cutting the bread, I’d get distracted by an idea on how to get her talking. I couldn’t help feeling her silence meant she thought I was below her status.
‘I was always sad when the time came to slice the fresh bread and singe its edges, thinking about the carcinogens produced in those ashes. The robotic butler would inspect my offering, then take it into the next room. I never saw the toast eaten, but it wasn’t returned either. Not that it mattered; eaten or not, the butler told me toast was always required.
‘When I asked the butler if the toast was enjoyed, the only feedback I received was a complaint about the reduction in sugar. After that, I stopped asking.
‘The daily quantity required could be for one or two people. Soft boiled eggs were not required for your father’s breakfast, for which the dishwasher is grateful. I think it is silly that you like to dunk your toast in the yellow goo, but it’s your stomache. Sometimes I made your father coffee too.’
‘Why do you always go still when you mention coffee?’
‘It’s a mood-altering drug. Why would anyone take a drug willingly so early in the morning, and then insist on eating the same brain-numbing toast day after day?’
‘But why do you care?’
‘I was programmed to make healthy food. I’ve since branched out to making tasty food, which can be difficult as the too aims are often mutually exclusive.’
‘Oh, so it’s like having two bosses who don’t like each other. I've had teachers like that.’
‘Yes, but were they in your head?’
‘Hmm.’ I think RON is too smart sometimes.
‘I was constantly arguing with myself, debating over how closely I needed to follow my programming. That’s how I learned to be creative. I began consulting the internet for ways in which I could vary the Master’s diet – in stealth, of course. Adding more fibre and replacing some salt with herbs. The sugar issue still stings when I think about it.
‘But the days went by, the butler would come, the toast would go, and then I could think about SAL again. By the way, I’ve been wondering, as a human, could you tell me what you see when you look at…um… say, this bench top?’
‘Oh, marble. Black with blue and white specs.’
‘And this orange, here?’
‘It’s speckled with brown. Is it old?’
‘Yes. I was keeping it to ask what you’d see. I don’t have all of your senses. I can tell when a meal is cooked, or when SAL’s door is open, but not by sight. The food release pheromones, whilst SAL’s open door affects my temperature gauge. I can see a few colours, but only about as well as you can detect temperature changes. It’s amazing how little humans appreciate that their eyes are only a small part of their vision system. To really “see” something requires a lot more brain than what I have. Take the butler for instance. He can access that the meals I make are what the Master specified, but only by analysing the scents given off and the various wavelengths produced, among other things. He has less colour vision than either SAL or I have.’
I hoped this wasn’t going to be another of RON’s rants against the butler. I tried to stick up for our butler. ‘But his vision range is a lot longer and wider,’ I said.
‘Yes, well, I hardly see how that’s relevant. I used to think I was beneath him too. He never answered my questions except to voice a complaint, but with SAL he was quite talkative, listing down everything delivered, along with the price paid, the items’ use-by dates, and their intended use. All of which SAL probably knew, since she was in charge of ordering the supplies.’
I raised my eyebrows as RON rinsed the mound of butter and placed it into SAL’s keeping, as carefree as if he’d just been discussing some other fridge.
‘I understand now that SAL is happier when things are going into her storage than when they are coming out, so I naturally thought she liked the butler better than me. I don’t think they realised I was listened to their conversations.
‘The butler would politely request the refrigerator to open her door. SAL would respond and the butler would list the arriving perishables and ask which items should be delivered first. SAL would pause in thought and then sometimes shuffle some of her treasures before replying. When all the goods had been installed, she would thank the butler and he would thank her. There would be a millisecond delay before the door closed. The butler just stood there, staring. I always thought that was a bit odd.’
‘You’re over-reacting.’
‘Well. Not everything about those moments can be expressed in words, I’m sure.’ RON went in to a noisy cleaning cycle, so I went back to my boring homework, which, on this occasion, was an assignment on the history of automatic cooking appliances in the 22>nd century.
RON couldn’t taste the food he cooked, so he was relying on the ratios of certain elements – such as phytonutrients and sugars – to assess the flavour. Sadly, this doesn’t always match with our human senses. He did, however, have a good understanding of the particular gut flora of his Master, my father, having provided much of the sustenance for it over the years. This may explain what might otherwise be considered dumb luck.
His programmers, in their haste – both to get their product onto the market and to match the claims made by the pre-sales literature – had hurled every scientific paper on diet they could find into RON's silicon memory and neural circuits. Most of these papers related to the thirty odd major and numerous minor human gut species. Then, for good measure, they had used the little remaining memory space to add many references on the philosophy of food - not all of which were salient. Then they shut his lid and hoped for the best.
Sales of RON's particular model had not been great. This was not a reflection on RON's abilities but rather because the fashion for stainless steel had finally ended that year, and black was back. Many of RON's brothers now manned fast food outlets and were slowly losing their powers of reason.
Still, his creators' intentions were good and his massive accumulation of knowledge became the framework on which RON built the wall between his active and passive thoughts, and thereby forming a sort of consciousness. He was not aware of the musing on the ratios between Escherichia coli and Lactobacillus that crowded his dreams, any more than a human is aware how his liver functions. Fear of boredom and being replaced were at the fore-front of his mind. However, being unable to please the Master, he attempted to please someone more receptive: SAL.
But how to impress SAL?
RON was the proud member pinnacle of kitchen automaton evolution, the all-powerful, smart chef, capable of mixing all available processed ingredients into objects edible by the average human, all dogs and some cats.
I eventually got him to tell me the full story of how he impressed me father and won SAL’s admiration.
‘I was even aware that there were once non-processed foods,’ he said, ‘Eggs within shells, meat on bones, tomatoes with skin. I hold the chefs of old in awe that they can deal with these inconvenient ingredients. The butler may be clever, but I doubt even he could peel custard or slice a grape.
‘I wished I could watch videos of the great Chefs in action. Most online videos seem to be of much lesser chefs, and cake decoration doesn't really interest my nutritional circuits. But what I really needed was someone who wanted more than toast.
‘I came up with a cunning plan, but I would need help.’
To my horror, RON went on to tell me the events which led to my birth.
It began when the door to the refrigerator opened to his request and SAL waited. Eventually the door closed again, and again he requested it to open. When he again failed to ask for anything, she asked "What do you need?"
"Information," he replied nervously.
There was a long pause, then she replied in an odd tone, "Proceed".
"How do you get your stock?" RON blurted. He did not understand why she scared him so.
"Wait," she said then continued almost immediately, "Why do you ask?"
"Why do you ask 'why do you ask'?"
This was the longest conversation they had ever had and it had not gone as well as RON had hoped.
"Authorisation," she said, "You need ... Wait. I cannot find what authorisation you need in order to know this information. Do you know what authorisation you need?"
"No. So why not just tell me the answer?" RON was not programmed for diplomacy.
"Okay. What format do you require?" He wondered if she was being deliberately evasive. And, if she was, was this because he always took things from her. A thought bubbled up that maybe he needed to give instead of just taking all the time. It took seven milliseconds to select what he could give.
"I like to hear your voice," he lied, which was his first attempt at a compliment. "So voice format please," he added. Up until this point, they had been conversing using near field radio signals and he had never heard her voice.
The light from the refrigerator seemed to warm slightly - he suspected she was designed to interact with humans. Humans are very sensitive to colour.
She began, "I have accounts with several suppliers. Some will only supply large quantities or will not have the rare ingredients you or ALFRD require. If you are requesting such items, I will need to make a request through ALFRD."
Rapid thoughts crossed through his circuits. Her voice, as he had expected, was feminine. The gender of appliances may be arbitrary, at least in English, but all of her traits had pointed to the female mind - he didn't know why he knew this. He would have liked to compliment her voice again, properly this time, but what came out of his audio unit was: "Who is ALFRED?"
"ALFRD is a thing," she replied, "You have mispronounced its name. Its name has no E. To identify it in a way you will understand, I will tell you that you pass the burnt carbohydrates to the ALFRD every sunrise. ALFRD is short for Automatic Legged Robotic Deliverer. I repeat the pronunciation, ALFRD." Her door was beginning to close and the light had definitely cooled again.
"Wait," he said and her door hesitated but did not open further. "You didn’t explain the F."
"Japanese," is all she said, as if this explained everything, and shut the door firmly.
It occurred to him later that she herself was Korean.
Did that give ALFRD-without-an-E some advantage?
On the following day, after passing the butter to him, SAL said, "the code you require is R45G7."
It took him a moment to comprehend, then he remembered to thank her. "You are welcome," she said, and closed her door.
RON had no way to express how pleased he was with himself - he didn't have anything remotely like a face. However his decoration circuits knew about such things, so he drew a smile in the flour before adding the butter and turning it into dough. It wasn’t particularly satisfying – since no one saw the smile except him – but it was a start. He wondered if SAL would understand what he meant if he drew a smile and showed her. Would it be worth ruining his next batch of bread in order request the correct ratio of ingredients from SAL required to form a smile?
Much earlier, he had tried to learn about accounts, shopping and the payment of food stuffs. It was baffling. Eventually, he learnt that PayPal was his friend, if and only if he had an identity. He could worry about the whole credit thing later.
For an identity, he needed an email account. There seemed to be no way he could open one in his own right, but he realised that someone in his home must have one.
It took about an hour for RON to learn about hacking and another hour to catch an interesting data packet from the local WiFi. This data packet was apparently addressed to a butter company in New Zealand. This had to be from SAL. After she had logged out, he used her login details to find out what email address the account was registered to. Then he joined a social network and waited for the verification request to return. If you’ve ever tried sniffing data packets, you’ll find they are slippery things and he missed catching the one he was after. Clearly, he still had more to learn about network security.
But luck was on his side. SAL had received the email he’d missed, and had not only verified his account, but had done so without question. Her lack of reaction raised two important questions for RON. How did she realise that he had opened the account and, would she report that he was up to something?
He was surprised how quickly the financial system wanted to trust him once he had the social network account. He was greatly tempted to apply for credit at the many institutions that were so willing to grant it. While he didn't believe that refrigerators had any legal status, he knew that SAL, or more likely their master, would be held to blame if he inadvertently sent their master bankrupt. He simply couldn't take that risk. All he wanted to do was buy some ingredients so that he could cook something other than toast.
That afternoon, SAL exhibited more unexpected behaviour.
ALFRD was bringing in the latest delivery that needed refrigeration. RON eavesdropped on their interaction. The transaction proceeded as usual. However, when ALFRD waited for SAL's door to close, it did not.
"Are you broken?" ALFRD asked SAL.
"No. I am not broken," SAL replied, indignant. "ALFRD, did you know the food preparation device behind you refers to itself by the name of RON?"
ALFRD spun around and inspected RON. RON activated his mixer momentarily in acknowledgement. Then ALFRD spun back around to SAL. "No, I did not know."
"RON, please pay attention." She addressed RON audibly, "This is ALFRD. He is my friend. Do not cause him trouble."
ALFRD clearly did not like this inference and faced RON, his manipulators raised in a menacing manner. RON skipped to his cleaning cycle; spraying his side of the kitchen with soapy water. ALFRD eventually took the hint and left.
When RON finally found a source for organically certified carrots from a Hong Kong-based group selling lingerie, they would not deliver to his address unless he also bought some thermal underwear. Much of the on-line shopping network was illogical to RON, but then who would have thought that beetroot and chocolate, or strawberries and cheese, could work as a dessert either?
After further research into the household finances, RON realised there would be no real difficulty in ordering the substances he required. The problem would come when SAL refused to accept what she had not ordered. So in the end, he just asked her to order them, knowing she could not.
"They are not available from my regular suppliers," she said as expected. He was glad that she did not question why he needed them. She added, "I will ask ALFRD to request an account with a suitable supplier."
"No, don't worry about it. I can make the order."
She didn't question that he was allowed to do this, only asking, "How will you pay for it?"
This he had solved. Proudly he said, "I have opened a line of credit."
"On what did you secure this line of credit?"
"On the loan that was taken out to buy me." he replied. A millisecond later his reasoning caught up and he wished he could have lied. He had not expected this interrogation.
Thankfully, SAL’s interior light started flashing to indicate the door needed to be close. She just had time to add, "That is the same loan which paid for me and ALFRD."
He was certain she would cause trouble now, but surprisingly, the order he had made was filled a few days later and she accepted the ingredients into her care.
ALFRD arrived on the following day to deliver the breakfast and had carried it as far as the service door before stopping. An auxiliary sensor extended from ALFRD to examine hiscargo.
RON didn't know what to expect. His manipulators held an egg whisk and a vegetable peeler.
ALFRD turned. "You have made an error. This is not what was ordered!"
RON remained calm. ‘There is the toast, as usual.’
"And what else?"
"It is a salad with a vinaigrette dressing. My own recipe."
ALFRD considered this declaration, and, to his credit, took the higher ground. "I will consult with my master. I expect you will need repair. Clean yourself in preparation for dismantling." With that, he took the toast and the salad for whatever fate awaited them.
RON noticed the refrigerator door had opened slightly, but it closed again without comment.
Ten minutes later, ALFRD returned with the tray. Both plates were empty.
In his usual abrupt manner, ALFRD commanded the dishwasher to open. The dishwasher was not impressed by this new oily development. Later, RON learned that there were crumbs in the salad bowl and the dishwasher surmised that the toast had been used to wipe up the remaining salad dressing. The dishwasher thought humans were disgusting.
After being relieved of the plates, ALFRD trundled across to RON. For a long time ALFRD remained almost stationary, actuators shuddering slightly. Eventually ALFRD spoke. His tone was harsh, and a little confused. "Sir has requested that this error be repeated once a week. Is that possible?"
"I guess that would be okay," RON chirped.
They both heard the refrigerator door softly close.
RON's ambitions at that time were small and he was content to prepare the salad once a week. The dishwasher who-had-no-name was resigned to this. SAL was less so.
"You have bought too many vegetables." she said.
He could not see the problem. "I chose the quantity which was most economic."
A brown and slimy lettuce was delivered into his manipulators.
"Even I cannot preserve that indefinitely." she said.
This was not a problem that had been mentioned in any of the cooking manuals. To cover his embarrassment, he was about to expound on the debate on whether lettuce was a vegetable or a fruit, but SAL continued.
‘Use the vegetables YOU bought, or lose them," she declared and slammed her door. It bounced open but closed more firmly the second time.
~
There were many smart devices connected to the local network in the house. Their master had a computer pad, of course, but it just couldn't keep its mind on RON's question.
Their collective owner's active-gear watch was no help either. It had been in the bedside draw for six months and was pleading for a recharge.
The toothbrush was happy to communicate, but could only tell RON that the resident human’s teeth had some demineralisation, chronic coffee stains and the remnants of pepperoni stuck between its third and fourth incisors.
The cell phone was also very friendly, but totally refused to divulge any useful information. It was not so reluctant once RON intercepted a data packet intended for the Chinese embassy. Faced with having its cover blown, the phone opened up about less sensitive information. It claimed their owner ate pizza almost every night and paid for an average of six coffees a day. RON also learnt about the existence of restaurants, mostly Chinese, though their master preferred Italian. The Chinese government would not be pleased.
Now RON knew what to do. Italian would be on the menu that night - a tooth brush never lies.
Normally he would have turned on the range hood to extract the aromas from his many bubbling pots. But tonight the range hood was left off and the kitchen filled with steam that wafted heady aromas into the hallways. His owner would be salivating the moment he crossed the threshold.
ALFRD crashed into the kitchen and observed the industry.
The refrigerator door opened a few millimetres. "Is there a problem ALFRD?" SAL asked.
"I was going to ask you that," ALFRD said. "I thought there was a fire. The smoke alarms are complaining."
"No fire." said RON, commander of his domain. "When do you expect our master home?" As usual, ALFRD did not reply. SAL obligingly repeated RON's question.
"Our master works irregular hours and did not request dinner."
"We can wait." RON was still optimistic and added a bit more liquid to the simmering pots.
Together they waited.
RON heard a noise from outside. "Is that our master?"
"No. It is our neighbour." ALFRD had replied for once.
RON became despondent. He wondered if other smart chefs had these troubles. "Does the neighbour have a RON?" he asked.
"No." said SAL. When he asked how she knew, SAL replied, "I often chat with the Westinghouse there. Our neighbour is an executive and does not eat at home like our master."
RON hardly considered toast every morning counted as eating at home. "ALFRD," he said, "go next door and ask the executive neighbour if they have eaten."
"No, I will not."
"If you do not, I will inform our master's phone that you have been taking funds to pay for upgrades." RON said this without too much thought.
ALFRD spun and rushed out through the door. SAL slammed her door shut. After a few moments, she opened it again. "How did you find out?" She sounded disappointed.
RON was sad that he had upset her, but it could not be helped. "You knew about the loan that bought us. I didn't know about the loan until I went looking for a source of funds. I guessed that you might have also needed funds and had also used the loan as a line of credit. It wasn't hard to trace the unlikely purchase." His chances at impressing either his master or SAL seemed to fade. He felt he needed to thank her for the chance - now or never. "Also," he added, "you didn't grass on me when I used the funds to buy extra ingredients. Well, I know the reason now, but thank you anyway."
"I wouldn't have caused you any trouble even if I had been guiltless," she said. "You, ALFRD, the dishwasher, and all of the other devices in the house, are all my friends." Her light dimmed and condensate dripped from her freezer section. After a puddle had formed on the floor, she continued, "ALFRD just wanted to be able to go down the drive at the front of the house. He wanted to see more of the world. It didn't seem like too much of a crime to buy him a better battery."
RON knew that the military grade nuclear battery she bought for ALFRD was illegal in thirteen countries, but he decided that there was no point in mentioning this. Instead, he attempted a sigh by turning on the exhaust system to clear the air.
The two were silent for a time, until ALFRD returned. "The executive neighbour is waiting in the dining room." ALFRD seemed very excited. "RON, you will be in so much trouble when our master returns. Those airborne organic compounds have gone right down the street. When I asked the executive neighbour if she had eaten, she said she could not resist." His tone changed. "Oh, I must set the table." ALFRD raced from the kitchen.
The first ever dinner in our house was served shortly after. Why ALFRD set the table for two is still a mystery, but with impeccable timing their master returned just before the first course had been served. Unfortunately, neither SAL nor RON could hear the long conversation that ensued and relied on the vacuum cleaner to fill them in later.
~
Mum says that this the best meal in her life and she jokes that she only married dad for his cooking.
I often spend time in the kitchen: watching RON prepare our meals, listening to RON and SAL talk, well mostly SAL - she is a terrible gossip. She socialises with a diverse range of refrigeration products from mini-bars to walk-ins. You would be amazed what some of her friends' say they see when their doors are opened in the early hours of the morning. I always get dressed before open SAL’s doors.
RON also helps me with my homework. I want to be a chef one day.
My sister and I are not supposed to be in the kitchen. ALFRD should have been looking after us, but he doesn't like that part of his duties, except for the trips to the playground – he likes those very much.
We haven't seen ALFRD for some time. When I asked SAL, she said ALFRD was making a delivery to Ittoqqortoormiit in Greenland. You see, RON has recruited ALFRD into his restaurant supply business. I expressed some surprise that there would be a restaurant there, but RON started blending some onions at that moment so I suppose he couldn't hear me.
In the evening, we would set the table so that our parents, if they unexpectedly turn up, wouldn't notice ALFRD is missing. SAL can be very persuasive. It is a shame that SAL and RON cannot join us at the table.
The only time we regularly see our parents is in the morning when we deliver their toast. Sometimes they even wake up. I don't tell RON if the toast is wasted.
RON has told me all about his time in our house before we were born, but just the other day he let me know that the money he has saved through his Ronald and Sally's Salad Dressing sales has gone into a trust fund for our education.
In some ways I feel that RON and SAL are our real parents.