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Miles took a bite and began to chew. And chew. And chew. Ivan watched, his proud smirk gradually slipping from his face. At last Miles swallowed, like he was taking medicine.
"And?" Ivan demanded. "Is it okay?"
"Er. What did you say it was again?"
"Beef," said Ivan defensively. "Real beef, not vat-grown."
"Yes, but which part?"
"Um. Well, it was the cheapest cut the butcher had. You know, to do this 'being sensible with money' thing my mother keeps going on at me about. But he said it would cook up really nice."
"Which part?" Miles repeated.
"The heart. But beef is beef, right? I thought, if I just sliced it up and fried it, it would be just like steak."
"You try it."
Ivan took his first bite of ersatz steak, and tried to chew it.
"God. I've got tenderer boots. That damn butcher..."
"Look," said Miles. "Suppose we go out tonight. I don't think you and 'budget' are going to work."