The humans and their friends are celebrating this lunar Year of the Ram/Sheep/Goat by eating dishes native to the culture.
Sigyn and I are looking at the menu. Even with pictures, I don’t recognize a single dish. This is food?
Chicken feet?! Surely this is an elaborate practical joke. Gwat? What is Gwat?
The dishes have started to arrive. They smell very good, which is reassuring.
The human female calls this “Wu Gok.” She says this translates to “Tarot Ball.” I have studied Midgardian methods of fortune-telling, so I surmise that is both a comestible and a method of divination. That makes sense for a new year— bite into this crispy, wispy fried thing and examine its innards to determine one’s fortune for the coming months. I have used it to make the prediction that the human female will end up with crumbs of this airy, fragile dough all down the front of her sweater.
Sigyn is not so much interested in delicious, bite-size predictatory morsels, or even these tasty roast pork bits, as she is in going around and around on the rotating centerpiece of the table. It’s a meal! It’s a ride! It’s gastromancy!