OK, here's my suggestion for an anti-social and Arthurian style rite of passage. After he pulls the golden spatula out of the bucket of grease, he has to compete against King Bill in a tart-making contest, so that if he wins, he will go to St Louis to cook for the cardinals and be a god. But can a simple fry-cook like him be worthy and well-skilled for such an honor?
Don't get me started on gravy ladles.
If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried before.
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