It's a community kitchen. You don't run any of it. [As flatly as he can manage, taking in all of the food that has been made--and is apparently destined to be senselessly wasted.]
[It's difficult to reason with someone who's, to put it crudely, shitfaced, and he just has to sigh.] What sort of sweets. [He asks dryly, crossing his arms. Yes, he does have a sweet tooth, and they do look good.]