She didn’t really twig Jace’s question about what the spag bol was ripe as - it just was ripe as, c’mon, keep up. But she could read his confuse fine. “Nah, ripe is a good thing,” she corrected him. “Like how ‘sick’ is a gooder, too.” Her new roomie Nylah (well, even if this was her first feastie day, she prolly couldn’t call her new after being at RMI a half-term already) had really mixed her up once. She’d been splaining her the plot of Hamilton in their dorm one night and called something ‘sick’ and then had to splain on that sick wasn’t just a word for the sniffles but also a complo.
“Why doncha like tofu?” she went on to ask, black brows furrowed. Her Thai grandparents weren’t even veggos but they used tofu in everything, and it was real ace with all the spices and curried veg and stuff. Mum had a line just for tofu on the Sat’dy grocery list, and they didn’t even eat trad foods full-time!
Then she remembered frowny wrinkles were a thing and made herself stop. Looking over Jace’s plate, it seemed it wasna trad food at all, just reg American whatever bobs pretending to be meat. It brought up to her head an ole story from her folks about how much Dad hated tofu until he ate a true meal with her mum’s family. Yeah, that cleared it. “Well no sup, if it’s just trick meat! You gotta have real tofu, like Pad Thai, not faking it up here like barbied kabobs.” As she said this, she gestured at Jace’s plate in a disgusted kinda way, eyes rolling.
But she could suck it up for a housemate in need. Paige reckoned she’d tried enough veggo takeout and premade grocery rubbish to stomach all the lame tofus of the world, and whatever the elves had made couldna be as sad as that. “Pass it on, I’ll swap ya,” she continued, holding out her bowl in return. “Give it a burl, s’just spag with bolog - bolag -” Paige pulled a face, literally incapable of coming’ up with the full name, and shrugged. “Meat sauce. Spag bol.”