Here you will find the stockpile of the social media associated with the Creature's Cookbook experiment. You can scroll through it, or simply use the search feature to find posts by keyword.
Piano. Only one I can play.
I have claws, you see. I’ve lately been contemplating yanking them out so I can learn the violin. I’d like to learn a stringed instrument. They seem lovely. I like the Chinese varietals. They sound alive. I can’t play wind instruments because my mouth won’t allow it, so those are out.
…
I can tell you’ve been drinking.
Firstly, I would always like to see food. You do not need to ask.
Secondly, I don’t think that you’re quite grasping my meaning when I say I am more clear headed. Firstly I have to consume a great deal of alcohol to feel anything. I’m talking several pitchers of beer or a few bottles of wine. And what I feel is only a slightly quicker thought processing. My words seem more quick to spring to mind and so forth.
Vor langer zeit. But I’ve been French and British and Belgian and Spanish and American also.
I get around.
But back to the subject.
In truth, hot buttered rum is not grog. Rum was a New World product and didn’t exist until there were sugar plantations in the Caribbean. There were things like hot buttered rum, including grog, posset, and nog, but they did not use rum.
The confusion arises because people incorrectly used the same word for the drinks made with rum. Even in the colonies, the recipe for grog was brought across the sea, but rum was far cheaper, and so they made grog, but with rum…and so you see, it wasn’t grog.
But yes, essentially it is the same idea.
It’s not altogether good for you. Sleeping too much does terrible things.
An excellent idea.
Personally, I like turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, and that sort of thing.
I can tolerate extremes in excess of human tolerances, but I prefer cold to heat. In the heat of the desert, for example, I think I’d go mad rather swiftly. In the cold, I feel numb, and while I may take leave of my senses, I never feel particularly far from them. I can wade through snow withoutill effect. Sit in it without a coat. I can be hurt by it, but it doesn’t bother my waking mind, if that makes sense.
Nothing much does, to be fair.
You know that human compulsion, when cold or in pain or other threatening extremes, to escape them? Humans dodge out of cold at high speed, will act without conscious thought if innenoigh pain? I don’t have that. Pain hurts, yes, but I think around it. Even when I let go of myself and allow the Huggry One to be in charge, that is still me, and it is still not bothered by pain. In fact, it’s less bothered by pain than I am. This is why it’s never wise to try to hurt one of us. You can’t. You can only immobilize us and hope we don’t hold a grudge.
I don’t know how to explain it any better than that. These things don’t have words. Humans only invented phrases for things they experience.
I’m not a therapist. Nor am I a judge of mankind and it’s fitness to claim asendency.
I’m just the cook.
I’m the furthest thing from a baking expert but I tried! Geode cake for my boyfriend’s birthday.
It looks as likely to eat you as you it. Congratulations on monster cake
I’m not sure that’s a fair assessment. To me it looks like some sort of rare cheese that might also be a corpse. Those are delightful.
I should know. I’ve been drinking it for 200 years or more.
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