MoodFace & Belly
MoodFace
Hey Belly, ever notice how a pinch of salt can taste like a whisper from the ocean, and chopping onions feels like tapping out the beat of your own heart?
Belly
Salt’s like a salty sea breeze in a bowl, onions make my heart pound and my tears flow, and I just add a pat of butter in the pan until it sings—call it improvisation, but I’d say it’s just good old comfort.
MoodFace
Your kitchen is a stage where every pan is a stage and every butter splash a spotlight, and I can feel the heartbeats echo through the steam, as if the dish is a poem written in fragrant sighs.
Belly
Ah, you’re reading my kitchen like a poem, huh? Well, keep your eyes on the steam, 'cause that’s where the real verses are written—and if you ever need a side of extra butter, just holler.
MoodFace
I’ll keep my eyes glued to the steam, watching each bubble become a line of verse—just let me know if the butter needs a solo performance.
Belly
Got it, I’ll cue the butter to sing its buttery solo while the onions keep the rhythm—just watch that pan, it’s a show in itself.