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“I’m not eating that.”
The Doctor tried to resist the urge to laugh at the scowl on Donna’s face as she regarded the steaming bowl set on the table between them. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” he teased. “Walk in ancient sands, remember? See the bigger picture.”
“We’re talking about a bowl of soup.”
“But it’s an unknown bowl of soup. I’ve never had this before, either. New worlds, new things, new adven — oh.”
He picked up one of the utensils and poked at the tentacle that snaked over the side of the bowl. “I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.”
The tentacle took exception to his poking and snapped at the Doctor’s hand. “I really don’t think it’s supposed to do that,” Donna said. “Waiter!”
The waiter shuffled over, all three eyebrows lifted in anticipation. “What’s this?” Donna demanded, gesturing to the bowl and the tentacle that had now snagged the Doctor’s utensil and was trying pull it away from him.
A click of the waiter’s forearms and a shake of the head. “Most apologies. This is not fresh enough. Allow me to take it away and beg your indulgence. There will be a slight delay while I remonstrate with the cook.”
The waiter leaned forward and took both the bowl and the utensil from the Doctor, carrying both away. Donna watched the retreating form in horror. “If that’s not fresh enough, then what is it going to look like when it comes back?”
The Doctor considered for a moment. He knew he should tell Donna to look beyond her horizons, to embrace new things. She’d come so far since she’d first appeared in the TARDIS, but there was still so much to learn, so many things to try. So many choices to make. “Let me make a suggestion. Run.”
“Best idea you’ve had all day, spaceman. Next time I’ll choose the restaurant.”