Churning Cheese
Words: 249
"And for the main course," the Doctor grinned at Donna, seated beside him, as the waiter arrived, "Bird, a soft, flying one, and as a side, a mixture of homegrown sprouts and pastry-like concoctions."
Donna raised an eyebrow, "So . . . chicken, salad, and spaghetti?"
"Yeah," the Doctor shrugged in response as the waiter, with an affronted look on his face, set down the mean for Donna to dig into.
"What are you having?" Donna asked after a while, when about five forkfuls of food were gone.
"And old Earth delicacy," he pointed to the menu and read off, "'A mix of dairy and fresh bread, served hot and blended. Easy to eat and hold!' Sounds good, doesn't it?"
"But that's not what you ordered," she frowned. "Is there another option?"
"Yup!" gleefully, he pointed to the word under the ones he had just announced. "'Also served as a special self-prepared food . . . only a half-price more expensive!'"
"Sounds like a rip-off!" Donna sing-songed.
"It's not a rip-off," he protested, and saw their waiter carrying a tray and a cauldron to their table. "See?"
Donna's eyebrow raised higher when the waiter showed an enthusiastic Doctor how to spin the dairy—it was cheese, it was cheese, orange and ordinary—onto the fresh bread. The fresh bread that looked suspiciously like common store-bought loaves.
The Doctor spun the handle of the cauldron with a look of glee.
Donna took another bite of her food. "Definitely a rip-off."