Paper plates and plastic cutlery adorned the grand table, which was stationed smack-dab in the middle of Basmati’s Japanese sand garden. Seated in tall-backed, gold-leafed chairs, Mrs. Wellington, Schmidty, Abernathy, Basmati, and the School of Fearians waited impatiently for the arrival of the Contrarians. “You’re lucky you don’t have any cats,” Theo said absentmindedly, looking at the sand. “They’d turn this place into one big bathroom.” “Honestly, Theo, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to have around food,” Madeleine said with exasperation. “I disagree!” Basmati rebuked Madeleine firmly. “We shouldn’t hide the painful truth from food. It deserves to know that it will soon be eaten and discarded as waste.” “You want us to discuss what happens to food after we eat it? And during a meal, no less?” Madeleine asked incredulously. “I realize that I’m British and perhaps a smidge stodgier than the rest of you, but you cannot be serious.” “Serious about what?”
