Hey, they are not! At least what I make is edible and that places it infinitely ahead of whatever Flayn made. Her cooking didn't get any better during the war, let me tell you.

[ Not that she hadn't tried which counted for a lot in Claude's book, though he (and everyone else) still appreciated the efforts of whoever was on kitchen duty to have her assist with tasks which didn't affect the outcome of the meal. Probably; he'll have to ask Hilda about that. The thought comes automatically as so many have before he remembers the reality right as fingers slide between his own, and Claude focuses on that and who's here in front of him rather than let it in with another grateful squeeze to Sylvain's hand. ]

How's this: don't give up on cooking, or I might actually cry. Again, now that I know about this, [ with a point of his fork to the desert bird, ] I think it might need to go into the rotation a little more often so I can also sing your praises for it more than just right now.