(no subject)
Linguini's first tour of Milliways called everything he thought he knew into question, which clearly demanded he do something constructive (i.e., work toward an illustrious career as a mad scientist) when he next was forced to returned in order to make himself feel like he has any control whatsoever over the situation. Thusly he is in the bar kitchen, in the company of what appears to be either an extremely burnt stew of some kind, or the most accurate replica of a smoker's lung ever made.
Now he's wishing he had never gone near the police line surrounding this can of worms. But sometimes good food doesn't look good. And he doesn't want to look unappreciative to Bar's benevolence. And plus he doesn't know what to do with it now. So, gingerly (hyuk hyuk!), like a contestant on Fear Factor except he's doing it for free, he tastes it.
"Hey," brightly, "this isn't so baAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"
He probably in retrospect should have paid attention in adding the pinch of saffron, because thanks to Linguini's lack of manual dexterity it ended up being a tower of saffron, and thanks to Linguini not paying attention it ended up being chili powder and not saffron at all. They're both red, okay?! IT COULD HAPPEN TO ANYONE.
Anyway, the daddy-longlegs-esque freckled lad stumbling from the kitchen amidst the billowing, smoking innards of a cryonic freezing chamber while panting and spluttering and waving his arms around his face like a Sri Lankan dancer covered in fire ants, who then proceeds to engage himself in a one-sided game of charades with Bar comprised mostly of "ah-ah-ah-AH-AH-AH ARGHLBLBLBLBLBLBL" and frantic Neanderthalian sign language (One word... two syllables... rhymes with "otter"? Wait, "hotter"? "Water" maybe?)...... that's him.
So, Milliways! How was your day?