I Resist the Muses

Write about your muse's favorite food. Describe a complete dinner from their point of view.

When I was a small boy, I loved confit: fruit boiled in sweet red wine. Grapes, apricots, figs, dates and raisins, all manner of fruit, stewed until the whole concoction was of a rich purple colour... I could gorge myself on confit until I was sick, and I remember I used to get my ears cuffed for indulging. But the fondness for over-sweet things is a prerogative of children, women, and very old men – in short, all manner of people with blunt palates.

Favourite food? You sound like my father. So modest, demanding so little in his private life. If he had his say, there was only one course, worse: one dish, to be shared by all, as if we were peasants huddled around a trestle table, poking our spoons in one great bowl. His public feasts were magnificent affairs, make no mistake about it; father knew how to silence the nay-sayers, preferably by stuffing honey-glazed capon in their mouths. Figuratively speaking, of course. But I hated dining with him alone and excused myself whenever I could; the prospect of staring at a single poveretto dish was not very inviting, see.

( So, a feast. )

Write about your muses favorite food. Describe a complete dinner from their point of view.

Nothing like Sunday Lunch at Mum's. Cor but, I can smell the roast of beef right now.

My favourite; roast of beef, roast potatoes, gravy, neeps and peas. Sometimes we'd even get yorkshire pudding. Oh its bloody heaven thinking on it.

Then there's steak and salad. That's what Jack cooks for me. It's not as good as Mum's, but its a special meal none the less. He over does it, so I end up cooking. Not that I mind.