Alex sat down at the wooden table. He picked up the spoon. He started to eat the chicken stew. Slurp. Munch. Gulp.
He ate it with so much passion. He ate it like he hadn't eaten in ten years. Violet stood by the sink, wringing her hands together nervously. She was watching him eat.
"Mmm," Alex groaned out loud. "This is delicious, Violet. It is so warm. It is so thick. And it is so incredibly wet. It slides right down my throat."
Violet's face burned. She looked away at the wall.
'Why does he have to describe soup like that? Why?! It is just soup! It is just chicken and vegetables! Why does it sound like something dirty?'
"I... I am glad you like it," she squeaked out.
"Oh, I do," Alex said, looking at her with intense eyes. "I love the taste of your cooking. It is salty and savory. It really satisfies my hunger. But you know... it only makes me want more. It whets my appetite for the main course."
