All of this larking about in the “downy feather-flakes from the woolly welkin” has made us all cold and hungry–and disinclined to cook. We have, therefore, taken ourselves off to a local eatery.
The human female has selected a Rubik’s Sandwich. I presume that means that it comes all nicely sorted out and the eater’s task is to disassemble and reassemble it as quickly as can be.
I believe this dish is meant to have past rami in it, which is a dark pink sort of meat. I guess that stuff is aged. This meat is light pink, so it must be newer—i.e., I give you present rami.
Who knows what future rami looks like.
(poke, poke, poke) There is also melted cheese, of which I approve. The final layer is some sort of old, sour cabbage…stuff.
Eeeeww! She’s eating it! Or, rather inhaling it. The human male does not like this cabbagey stuff, so she is getting it while the getting is good. The human male is suitably appalled.
But because I cannot allow a joy of hers to remain unalloyed with disappointment, I have caused the sandwich-maker to interpret “very easy on the mustard” to mean “slather that stuff on with a bricklayer’s trowel.” The human female is now busy scraping it off.
Sigyn, ever the dainty one, is pleased with this healthy side of steamed vegetables. The human female had her choice of these or chips or fruit and is disgustingly smug.
Ehehehehe! The joke’s on her, though, because I saw to it that the kitchen staff gave her the piece of broccoli with all the dirt left on.