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“Grains.” You reply automatically.
“Hold on.” The shadow vanishes back into the kitchen.
You wait patiently. What actually were grains, anyway? They were received as processed foodstuff at the port, usually in the form of flour. You knew bread was made from flour, which meant it was probably related to dough. If there was anything else to know, it wasn't part of your partial-indoctrination - although you suspect there wouldn't be much even were it complete - as it was hardly relevant to your duties.
A part of you was curious about what it'd taste like. You'd only had regular food a few times before, after all. Your metabolic rate was very precisely tuned to be close to your regular meals, so you rarely had cause to eat anything more than what you needed to maintain your bodily processes.
Something sweet wafted out to you. It reminded you pleasantly of leather wax. Or something close to it. The smell filled your nose far more than the stalls down in the underhive had, seemingly lingering with every breath.
The Magos Delectica emerged, setting a small plate down in front of you. A mass of curled ribbons the color of parchment lay on a dusting of some kind of herb which was ground over the top of the mass as well. This was... pasta, you think? You recall seeing an image of it once, you think. You furrow your brow. “I do not wish to sound ungrateful, but this is surprising me?”
For his part, he doesn't seem to take it as an insult. In fact, his face doesn't move at all, mechadendrites still extending behind him into the kitchen. “It's pasta with <span class="mu-i">tabba</span> chowder sauce and garnish."
“...tabba?” You tilt your head. “The meat?”
“No, their shells.”
“I thought the shells were inedible.”
“Unappealing, but not inedible.” He took a puff on a lho stick before turning around. “...anyway, enjoy.”
You watch the last of his mechadendrites pull around the corner, then nervously pick up the fork and knife left on the plate. Etiquette at least told you how to use them, as you delicately cut into part of the mass and carefully spun it on your fork. Bits of the dusting on the noodles glinted in the light, dark points against the white sauce. You raise it up to your nose experimentally. Mixed in with the sweetness was a... sharper smell? Something z... zesty? That was a smell, right?
Before you could hesitate any further, you pop it into your mouth and begin chewing. Immediately, your mouth was filled with a thick, acidic flavor. Like... battery acid? No, you didn't even know what that tasted like- it made your mouth feel like you had swallowed the smell that some cleaners left behind. Was that a good thing? Your chewing was slowly releasing a sweet flavor from within the curls, which mixed with the acidity of the sauce and the strange savory flavor that followed it. What did he call this, chowder?