There was one more thing that the human female bought at the market yesterday. She thought it looked "intriguing." After all, a sweet potato, baked to melting perfection, dotted with butter and maple sugar is quite a treat–it’s a heavenly end, the most a dull-burnt-orange, lumpy root could hope for.
Surely something which so resembles pie-innards would translate well to a cool, creamy concoction?
Yeah, no. Sorry, Sigyn, it doesn’t taste like anything at all. I’m off to find something edible for breakfast.
Caveat: Buy something else.