One boy wanted to eat. I could, of course, cook peelings or eat at the cafe, but I thought it wasn’t interesting. He deserves more. So the boy went to the coolest exotic restaurant and ordered the most exotic dish with an indescribable name. The dish cost a bunch of money, but it looked chic: a juicy chicken breast, a golden crust, a lot of unfamiliar spices... indeed, when the boy began to eat, he immediately realized that the chicken was roasted, roasted, and generally slightly unfresh. When the boy recovered from a severe food poisoning, he went to the same restaurant and ordered exactly the same chicken. He was sick again. And to this day the boy again and again chooses the same chickens, stubbornly (and in vain) hoping every time that the next will definitely be soft, gentle and unspoiled!
And then he gets drunk and screams that there are silly mercantile chickens around.