Every other week? Gods, I couldn't imagine. We traveled plenty, of course, but even a festival was rare, often only seasonal. On an equinox or solstice. Often focused on a village's crop of choice. [He sighs, taking another slurp of slush.] Mostly corn and wheat.

[Nothing that tasted even near to the thing he's had here. He does not really understand the concept of calling something enjoyable "garbage," but he senses there is a sort of sarcastic irony to the idea. He takes in what words he can, taking the proffered turkey leg without a second thought, finishing it off as he magics a handkerchief to wipe his face in the case any grease from the meat lingers.

Even if he may have gotten sick off of this in the real world, it does not touch him here. Things are overwhelming, or too salty, or far too rich, but his stomach takes it all in with the ease it would of a boiled egg.

And he lights up at the idea of games. Games, apparently, which come with walls of horrible flashing lights in every color he can imagine, and these great big stuffed amalgamations that may have been animals, once, if they were in shades of pink and blue Jaskier has never seen before.] At the risk of mentioning games I like and being hounded about them, er... what are some of these? There are balls. A lot of these involve balls, apparently.