“Winter is coming.” “No s@#t, Stark. Why do you think I’m stocking up?” Bang, bang, slush, slush goes a casket of 80-proof icy insulation. “By the way, you’re a lousy weatherman. 6 years? Sooner or later you’re bound to be right, Ned. Now, let’s retire to one of Little Finger’s entertainment pavilions, lest you lose your head.” Food has always been a leyline on which George R.R. Martin’s epic novels have dug their roots deep. In comparison, with its scantily clad HBO adaptation, the original script — which is the less than pompous way of saying “novels” — are the equivalent of a gourmand’s saucy skin magazine. Each author or producer letting their inner fetishes take hold of their rigid and stiff […]

“Run, Marty! Run! Save yourself!” “Doc, it’s just a rubber chicken. What’s the deal?” “That glare, that intensity…” Arms shrugging, cogitating on the inductive idea that frenzied exposure to Plutonium had finally done the old man in, Marty – of that fabled clan McFly – tried to get a handle on the volatile situation. “Let’s just calm… Ahhh! Ahhh!” “I told you. Leave it. That chicken…” “The rubber ducky of dominant duress and devilish disorder,” went he of the agitated avian arsenal, “holds more in its backdoor belly…” “My God, Marty, it’s got a bar of soup! The cruelty! The excess inhumanity!” The batty scientist dove for his teenage companion and flew off the page in an effluvium of noxious fumes; […]