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She had both her arms and both her legs slung over the table, greedily hoarding the yet uneaten plates of food the waiters were desperately landing on her table, one after the other, her barked orders for more carrying along the restaurant all the way to the kitchen, where the cooks were sweating in overexertion and only a step away from becoming pathetic lumps of whimpering, sobbing chef.
He was planted at his restaurant table as if determined to spend the rest of his life there, a mountain of food piled high upon his table in a manner reminiscent of the Red Line, which he was attacking with the driving force of a Grand Line typhoon. His bellows for meat carried the same kind of power and violence of the war cries of the giant warriors of Elbaf and were able to inspire the same kind of terror in the quivering hearts of the cruelly overworked chefs and waiters.
She looked up, a hand pawing at a greasy, sticky chunk of roasted lamb while the other took an oversized slice of pizza, dripping cheese and sauce and shedding toppings, to an already overloaded mouth that was chewing with the fierce determination of a famished seaking.
He looked up, enlarged cheeks overflowing with meat slabs, ham joints, bread, and a representative of each of the component elements of the food groups and all of the members of the food chain at the same time. His grossly enlarged stomach forced him to put some distance between his chair and the table, which he was making up by the simple expedient of elongating his arms and neck to reach the food on his table and that on the surrounding ones.
Their gazes met from across the room.
It was love at first sight.