The Patty and the Pickle

Once upon a time, there lived a princess in a castle. But she wasn’t just any princess; she was a soy burger patty, born from the union of King Cheeseburger Deluxe VIII and his third wife, Lady Veggie Patty.

She lay awake in bed one morning, staring at the ceiling and dreading the upcoming day. Her reverie was broken when the door opened, light from the hallway intruding upon her brooding.

“Oh, get up,” the tomato maid said as she moved the curtains aside to let in the morning light. “We have a lot of preparations for today’s big day!” The maid waddled her plump, red body over to the princess’s bed and gently shook her.

Princess Soy Patty grumbled and sat up at the edge of her bed. “Why can’t I just have a quiet birthday?” Her wide form slouched over, giving the appearance of a taco shell.

“Oh, stop it. You didn’t do anything last year, and this is a special year. It’s not every year that a beautiful princess gets to marry a handsome prince.” She ended her sentence on a high note while raising her eyebrows.

Princess Soy Patty snorted. “I’d hardly call him handsome. He’s all crispy and oily. And he is super arrogant too!”

The maid laughed. “Well, I can’t deny the arrogance. Those chicken burgers can’t stop boasting about how they make such a healthier burger.”

“Besides, I’m not beautiful either. I guess it makes sense that my father wants me to marry him. We’re a perfect match…” She fell back in bed, much to the ire of her maid.

“Oh, enough talk like that! You are just as beautiful as any other patty. You are round and thick, and you have beautiful brown skin that looks just like any other burger.”

“Yeah, but I’m still different, and the others always talk behind my back. But I know what they’re saying.”

“Oh, don’t pay them any attention. Sit up straight and show the world that you are proud of who you were. Your mother was one of the most beautiful and tasty lady patties in the land, and she would be proud of you if she were still alive.” She pulled Princess Soy Patty out of bed and started dressing her. When the princess remained quiet, the maid continued, “They just get defensive because they know they came from an animal and you are plant-based, just like your mother. She was such a gentle soul.”

The princess smiled at the thought of her mother. A locket with her picture was all that she had anymore. Why couldn’t she be here right now?

“There’s that beautiful smile!” the maid laughed. “Now turn around so I can fit this dress properly.”

The princess’s smile vanished when her mind returned to whom she was to be wed to by the end of the day. Baron von Chickeny. The nation of Chickeny was proud of the royal chicken-patty family, and they were loud about their health benefits. But the baron had been deep-fried, and it made the princess’s stomach turn at the thought of having to touch his crispy and oily skin. He wasn’t healthy, and she wasn’t is love. But her father wanted an alliance with the Chickenys, so she was forced to get married and make a double-decker burger with him.

She gazed out the window and sighed. In the distance stretched open fields, and at the edge, right before the Rubbage Mountains and Lake Frying-oil was the small hamlet of Toppingsville.

***

Mr. Pickle was delivering his month’s yield of dill to Toppingsville. He was a hardworking pickle, and he got by from farming and supplying the kingdom and, by extension, delicious burgers.

He was pulling his cart into town when he overheard the local buzz at the central market. The princess was to be wed that evening! All the toppings, condiments, and sides would be at the castle, and anyone who was anybody was going to be there.

Mr. Pickle had been raised by his adoptive parents: Mr. Fry, who was too short to be a soldier, and Mrs. Mustard, whose cap been left open too long and had dried out with age. Looked down on by society themselves, they had gladly raised Mr. Pickle when his mother brought him to them.

Mr. Pickle rushed back home to look for the box his mother had left him. His father had been a noble cucumber and his mother had been a beautiful bottle of fresh-squeezed ketchup. But ketchup had vinegar, and he was born short and bumpy. His father was disgusted at his small size and bumpy skin. He was sent away as a young child when his father realized that he would never grow up tall and smooth and would only bring shame upon the family. Mrs. Ketchup had brought her little pickle to her cousin, Mrs. Mustard, with whom he was raised.

Mr. Pickle found the box and in it, the one set of regal attire he had been given by his mother. It was made for a cucumber, so it was too big for him even though he was now fully grown.

“What are you doing, Hun?” Mrs. Mustard’s hoarse voice came from the other room.

“I am going to the royal wedding tonight, and I need my nice clothes from the box,” he replied.

“Well that’s nice dear. Let me give you a hand.” She rocked over into his room and helped him cut and sew the robe to fit.

Her vision wasn’t the best, but together, they quickly mended the clothes to fit him. It wasn’t pretty, but it would suffice.

***

Mr. Pickle wavered before the castle’s towering gate. He hadn’t anticipated all the soldiers. Rows and rows of French fries in front with a checkpoint before anyone could enter the castle. Bottles of mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, and other sauces hopped through the gate. Cucumbers, blocks of cheese, onion rings, whole-wheat buns, and even sourdough buns sauntered through the gate. To-go boxes on wheels carried other highly esteemed patties from surrounding territories through the gate. And they all were checked by the fries.

Mr. Pickle pondered how he would get through when he noticed a party of jalapeno poppers approaching the gate. He casually fell in line with them and walked up to the gate. He tried his best to blend in even though he wasn’t breaded like they were.

A tall and impossibly straight French fry stood before them. “Party name?” he asked.

The leading popper cleared her throat. “Senorita Jalapeno Popper de Plato con Hamburguesa.”

The fry grunted and looked at his list. “Party of seven?”

“Si.”

The fry started counting, and Mr. Pickle knew that his presence made eight. Mr. Pickle started sweating. What would happen if he was caught? He glanced around and noticed that the delegates from the Duchy of Lunch Wraps, Las Tortillas, were checking in to his left.

The fry returned his iron gaze to the list for a moment, and Mr. Pickle slithered over to stand in between two of the tortillas. Their huge bodies provided the perfect cover.

Mr. Pickle listened as both the poppers and tortillas were admitted into the castle, and he continued to walk between the tortillas until the crowd became thick enough for him to slide off into the mix unnoticed.

He was short, and all the other regally tall ingredients and toppings dwarfed over him. People kept bumping into him, so he made for the wall. He took temporary refuge behind the buffet table and got a drink. That was when he saw her. The most wholesome and beautiful patty he had ever seen. Round, char-grilled cheeks, and a guarded gait. Mr. Pickle was instantly in love.

Princess Soy Patty descended the stairs and everyone turned to look. Her cheeks turned redder than the ripest tomato in the room, and she hurried to lose herself in the mass of ingredients.

“You don’t want to talk to her,” an elaborately dressed patty standing next to him said.

He turned to her with his eyebrows scrunched.

“I saw you staring,” she offered. “She is the one who is going to get married. And it doesn’t matter anyway. She’s a,” her nose wrinkled, “soy patty.”

The other patty standing next to her nodded in agreement.

Mr. Pickle returned his gaze to the princess. “What does that mean?”

“Well, it means that instead of one-hundred percent beef, she is made up of plants.”

“And?”

Her eyes snapped open, sending her eyebrows even higher. “And… beef is just better! She’s just a bunch of plants!”

“What’s wrong with that, though?”

“You wouldn’t understand…”

“I guess not.” He chuckled. His heart was soaring and butterflies filled his stomach. He moved toward her and stood before her for a second, not knowing what to say while the crowds shuffled around them and the music filled the chamber.

“Greetings,” she mumbled.

“Hi. My name is Mr. Pickle.”

She looked him up and down and grinned at his ill-fitting attire. “My name is S— Princess Patty.” She looked at the floor.

“Princess Soy Patty, if I understood correctly?”

She sensed none of the contempt so many others laced their tongues with. Only kindness. She looked back up and smiled. “Yes.”

It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. “Um, may I ask you to a dance?” Go big or go home was his credence this evening. Even if he got locked up, not many lowly little pickles got to dance with a princess!

She offered Mr. Pickle her hand, and he swept her along. They danced and laughed until their feet and sides hurt, and then they kept on dancing and laughing. He had never been so happy. Tears came to his eyes. He turned his head to wipe them away and noticed that it was because a party of onions had just entered the hall. They laughed harder.

A trumpet blared, and the crowd stilled. A French fry yelled, “all part for his majesty, Baron von Chickeny, soon to be wed to her grace, Princess Soy Patty.”

The crowd separated, and the chicken patty entered, flanked by other chicken patties, some breaded and some still showing their char-grilled white skin.

King Cheeseburger Deluxe VIII sat up on his throne. “Alas, he has entered. Now, where is my little princess?” His eyes swept the room and saw Princess Soy Patty standing in the center of the hall, still holding hands with Mr. Pickle. His tomato slices grew even redder. His voice filled the chamber, and nobody moved. “Who is this man fouling my princess’s hand? Bring him to me!”

The princess turned to look at Mr. Pickle. “You have to go! They will compost you!”

Mr. Pickle started backing up when he saw the circle of French fry soldiers advancing upon him.

The princess ran to the buffet table and hefted the bowl of cooking grease over her head. She turned and threw it at the soldiers, coating them in a slippery mess that got everywhere. Chaos ensued as toppings, condiments, and patties started slipping and falling on each other while the guards tried to grab Mr. Pickle.

In the confusion, Mr. Pickle slipped through the crowd and escaped into the darkness outside the castle.

***

A to-go box rocked along the bumpy road from the Rubbage Mountains to the village.

It paused at a fork in the road, and a patty stuck her head out the window to address the farmer in the field next to her. “Excuse me, which way goes to the village of Toppingsville?”

The pickle looked up from the dill field to tell her the directions. Their eyes met.

She was breathless. “Mr. Pickle?”

“Princess Soy Patty?”

She opened the door and ran into the field, not caring about the stains she got on her gown. She got right in front of him, grabbed his hands, and lit up the cloudy day with her brilliant smile. “I have been looking for you for weeks!”

He struggled to find the right words. “I thought… I thought you got married?”

She laughed. “I was supposed to. Throwing a pot of grease and ruining the party got the ire of my father and the baron.”

“So, you’re not married?”

“No.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “It’s been called off. I decided to give up my royalty anyway. I don’t want to be forced to marry any meat patty. I want to make a vegan burger. With you.”

Mr. Pickle smiled for the first time since he had fled the castle. He took her into his arms, and the clouds parted, warming them with the sun’s glow. Somewhere, they ended up making a delicious vegan burger together. Not everybody would understand, but they would try their best. And they lived happily ever after.

The End