Words of the Constant
It sprung back to life!
It smells wet.
Better to lose a tooth than your tongue!
Les dents will make a dent!
I think I'm too old to hear it.
I suppose I can't be picky with my ingredients, but...
Some dishes probably shouldn't be made.
I think I've lost my appetite.
Just my cute little breadbox.
He's a cheery little fishstick.
He's missing his other half.
That's ice.
Iceberg ahead!
Melted like butter!
Melted like butter!
The ice box, my second-most loyal culinary companion.
The heat is sweetly beat!
Must I wear it?
Away, frozen diable!
Now this I can use!
It flash freezes poulet!
Prepare for a frosting!
A portable freezer!
Frozen beef? I suppose I'll have to make do.
And I'm in!
Do not lick it. Your tongue will get stuck.
Winona cooked it up with some help from that strange gentleman.
What a tasty dish!
I must respectfully decline.
It's trying to get between me and my ingredients!
Simple, sweet, parfait.
A little something sweet to brighten the day.
Perhaps there is something delicious hiding in its center?
Oh, there's a cherry on top!
It could topple over any minute!
If only I had a bit of cheese, perhaps some chives...
Opa!
Salad of the sea!
I'd rather have this in a broth than on my head.
This... could be a bit better.
Ah, crispy!
Almost not worth the honey!
So sassy!
Mon dieu, I knew I smelled something burning!
A plaything for les petits chats.
Nearly done.
Ah. I don't think that was meant to be cooked.
They must work up quite an appetite playing all day.
Now, to put the ingredients together.
Burnt to a crisp.