|
|
So, Arthur, how say you?
Who will be your champion, and who shall he face in the Challenge?
|
My man Cherri will accept your challenge,
against your Saucier!
|
|
|
Very Well. Fetch hither
Duke Caelia,
my Champiõn du Gravy!
|
Eingeh hungeh Champy, bork!
Bork Bork Bork!
|
|
|
That's no Elf!
|
No. No one said you'd face an elf,
just my champion.
|
|
|
Right. Cherri! Show no
mercy.
|
My 'man,' Cherri?
That's gonna cost you, chief.
|
|
|
Ienda
foosa keepa Be-Be-Que,
keepa Chickee Chickee.
|
Bwaak!
Eena Chickee Chickee!
|
|
|
Foosa Chickee
Chickee?
|
Foosa Moo
Moo Cowsa?
|
|
|
Foosa Pork-Pork-Pork?
|
Foosa Kibbles and
Bitte?
|
|
|
Hmmmmmm....
|
Heysa
Chickee Chickee....
|
Much later,
judges Torchfire and Fiery Red
assess the results:
|
|
|
...Nicely
glazed, fully cooked, well proportioned, and the wine perfectly complements
the meat.
|
Up
to your usual standards, Chef!
Now, what do you have for us, dear?
|
|
|
I killed a
chicken and
held it over a flame.
|
That's, a,
that's rather simple.
|
|
|
Yeah, but at
least I didn't try to get you guys to eat a rat.
|
A....a....a
rat?
|
|
|
Bork?
|
Yep.
Usual standards.
|
|
|
Well, Arthur,
your man wins.
But it's an ugly victory.
|
Works for me!
|
|
AND
CHERRI WINS IRON AGE CHEF!
|
Select
Another Challenge:
|
|
