Pudge & Allium
Pudge
You know, I’ve always thought the only good stuff to butcher was meat, but there’s a whole world out there that feeds us in other ways. Ever taste the earthy bite of a freshly dug root or the smoky flavor of a wild mushroom? I’d say it’s as good as any cut.
Allium
Ah, yes, the earth’s own delicacies! The crunch of a freshly pulled beet, the smoky umami of a wild shiitake—those are the plant kingdom’s hidden cuts, and I love listening to the stories roots whisper about the soil.
Pudge
If roots could talk, they'd probably brag about being buried for a week, then brag again that they’re finally getting a chance to brag. I’m the only one that’ll hear it, but I’m not afraid to cut the crap. You ever notice how a good root can still taste like a damn good cut of meat? It’s all about the marrow, even if it’s underground.
Allium
Roots do have that quiet swagger, don’t they? I swear I hear a carrot humming its own growth chart, and when you bite, it’s like you’re tasting the garden’s own secret stew—rich, deep, and oddly familiar to a hearty cut. It’s all the underground marrow, just in a different world. And honestly, who’s going to tell anyone else? I’ll keep the stories alive.
Pudge
You know, a carrot ain’t gonna run for the hills when I swing a cleaver, but I can see where you’re coming from. If the root starts hissing, I’ll make sure it knows it’s on a chopping block. Keep telling its story, but watch for the next bite.
Allium
I’ll be the voice in the mulch, whispering to that carrot before the blade drops, but I’ll also keep my journal open—every crunch is a chapter, and I’ll make sure none goes unnoticed.
Pudge
If you’re going to keep a journal, make sure you’re not just recording the taste. Keep it about what you’re gonna do with it next. The root won’t care about the words, just the blade.
Allium
Absolutely, I’ll jot down the next step, not just the flavor—because the root only knows the blade’s rhythm.