No, no, NO!
You’re all doing it wrong.
Ahem
Arthas : Glad you could bake it, Uther.
Uther the Lightbringer: Watch your tone with me, boy. You may be the waiter, but I’m still your superior as a chef.
Arthas: As if I could forghetti. Listen Uther, there’s something about the plaguette you should knead…
Arthas : Oh no! It’s too late! These peopleroni have all been infectedanana! They may look al dante now, but it’s a matter of thyme before they turn into the undeadible!
Uther the Lightbringer : What?
Arthas: This entire citrella must be peeled.
Uther the Lightbringer: How can you even cook that?! There’s got to be some other whey.
Arthas : Damn it, Umami, as your future chef, I order you to broil this city!
Uther the Lightbringer : You are not my chef yet, boyardee. Nor would I obey that command if you were!
Arthas : Then I must consider this an act of seasoning.
Uther the Lightbringer : Seasoning? Have you sauced your mince, Arthas?!
Arthas : Have I? Lord Umami, by my right of succession and sovereignty of my crown of roast pork, I hereby rehydrate you from your commandard and suspenderoni your pepperoni from service.
Uther the Lightbringer : Arthas! You can’t just–
DING!
Arthas : It’s done! For those of you who have the will to taste this flan, follow me! The rest of you… get out of my kitchen!
Uther the Lightbringer : You’ve just tossed a terrible salad, Arthas.
Arthas : Jaina?
Jaina Proudmoore : I’m sorry Arthas… I can’t watch you cook this.
The Cooking of Stratholme