On page two (2!) of Mark Twain's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Huck expresses two of my feelings about food, one about its preparation and one about the urgency of its consumption:
When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them, — that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.
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