(imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and this is my flattery of The Toast.)
You’re confronted in the woods by a deceitful satyr who offers you sardines on toast. After the satyr admits he meant to have you murdered, you meet him several days later for lunch.
Your sister’s lunch date has been dragged off to prison by a werewolf, and you feel you want some dinner.
A total stranger entices you with a roomful of Turkish Delight, if only you’ll leave your home planet and become her adopted son. Naturally, you accept.
You never think to question how talking beavers in a land of eternal winter have butter and potatoes to go with their fish. I suppose the White Witch must have been giving her subjects rations by the same magic trick that produced addictive Turkish Delight, but why would she be nice enough to give them butter? She’s evil; she could have produced a lifetime supply of Beanie Weenies or something.
You’ve just raided an underground tomb to save a group of holed up revolutionaries from a werewolf and a hag. Now you’d like buttered eggs and coffee, but there’s nothing but leftover bear meat.
You are being carried off to meet the wicked queen in an underground boat piloted by depressed gnomes. The cakes they provide are flabby and flavorless.
The female horseman who just joined your desperate escape from slavery has rather nice things to eat in her saddle bag.
The invisible magician who deliberately deformed every creature on his island offers you lunch, which you immediately accept. There’s a lemon squash for dessert.
What’s going to cure your mother’s terminal Victorian illness? You know as well as I do. Food! An apple.
Your uncle has just taken the homicidal giant queen out to lunch. It did not go well.
You are riding on the back of a winged horse to discover a garden at the outskirts of a newly created world, and you feel that someone should have arranged for your meals. Thankfully, there’s a toffee tree.
(Image of Turkish Delight, which is horrible by the way, via pixabay.)
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