Apparently tomorrow is a special day for some Midgardians, those whose ancestors hail from a very green and damp bit of the planet’s northern hemisphere. On this day, they are supposed to eat a certain traditional meal, except that that the natives of that particular bit of Midgard don’t actually eat it. The whole assemblage of comestibles is apocryphal, something made up in this country, more or less. The human female, not being of a very discerning or discriminating nature, has bought into the hoodwinkery and has plunged with gusto into the whole rigamarole of corn, beef, and cabbage.
Here is the beef for the feast. I am highly suspicious of meat that comes in a bag.
Poke, poke, poke. Look at that–it broke the tip off Gungnir! If no one can manage to cut this, we are ALL going to be hungry and need charity.
Time to trim. Even Volstagg wouldn’t want all that fat. Here’s hoping my dagger can get through this. (Sigyn doesn’t need to see this part of the process.)
And now Mister Beef gets to simmer all day.
The human female has wandered off to do whatever it is when she’s not doing anything useful. This is my opportunity to do a little mischief. Turn up the heat a little and ploof! FOOOAAAAAAAM!
The human female will have fun cleaning that up, but it serves her right for tossing out my dagger with the scraps. I made her comb through the whole garbage with her very own hands, but we didn’t find it. She will pay for this, you can be sure, and for a very long time.
Sigyn is really interested now because it involves this “cute” little packet of spices.
As I said, the beef will simmer all day long. I get that. But what about the rest of the meal?