The Finns had already finished and left, which didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like we could communicate with them. “You’re not eating your porridge,” Doris said. “Calling it porridge is stretching it.” “I must admit I’ve never eaten anything quite like this before,” Doris said. “I’ve never seen any food this color,” I replied. “It’s sort of cement gray.” “I think that makes sense. It does taste like what I imagine cement would taste like. Thank goodness for the sugar.” Doris dropped in another heaping spoonful of brown sugar. I didn’t bother. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway. “Even that wouldn’t change the texture,” I said. “It looks sort of like…like…” “Diarrhea?” I nodded. I hadn’t wanted to say it. “At least the fried egg and potatoes are good,” I said. “It would be hard to do those wrong,” she agreed. “Although I’m not really sure what this is.” She held up the little sausage-like thing they had given us. “I wonder what type of meat it is?”
