As Beef plodded along, he glanced at his companions and reflected on how he came to be traveling with his best friend, and two stuck up ravioli wouldn’t say two words to him. The ravioli have been sending a select few on journeys like this all the way back to the beginning of time, the days of The Store. He looked ahead at Rosemary and Portobello, from the Rana ravioli they were examples of quality brand lines that ran back for generations. They were nothing like himself or Cheese, of Rosetto. A common ravioli, beef was content to live with the rest of his bag in the Freezer, playing games with Cheese among the frozen vegetables and dodging frostbite. But The Hand had come. Now it was his duty, with the others, to ensure the safety of all of the bags in the Freezer, regardless of brand or quality. So Beef trekked on, across the sweltering heat of the great Kitchen, in search of the stove and where they hoped to find something called The Pot.
Beef was the driving force that kept their little group moving, yet he did not look forward to finding the pot. Before they set out on their journey, the reader had told him his cook time was longer than the others, meaning he was the first into the pot. The readers used to be a powerful, mystical group that lived in the furthest recesses of the freezer. Now a lone old man, frost bitten and ragged, made the journey each time the hand called; to read the bags and call forth the chosen ravioli and set them off on their quest.
“Cheese, promise me when the time comes that you’ll make sure the Rana enter the pot. I don’t trust those two.” “The pot is the stuff of legends and nightmares.” Cheese replied, “No one has ever come back. I’m not sure I want to enter it myself.” “For the good of the bag. For the good of the freezer.” Beef responded, recalling the words heard at so many Hand ceremonies before. “For the good of the freezer” nodded Cheese.