Tidus slips a fork into his own hand, rolls around the pieces of meat to decide on one before he stabs it, his answer to Roland in when pops it into his mouth and chews. And it tastes what he expects, for the guy who knows what flavours he put into it: smoky, subdued, the spices mingling well together; and then there was the artificial taste of meat, slightly sweet.

More a body to house the flavours than to be one itself.

"Not bad," Tidus hums, neither one way or another about it. "You're only gonna get as good as your meat is, which isn't great. Might as well cook with something like tofu than something like this. But at least it fries. It's all about what you stick with it at this point. He takes another piece onto his fork, then looks over at the other jars of flavouring.

"You wanna try some different flavours? Just don't forget you have the rice and everything going in too."