Seventeen year old Marina is quite sure that she has had the worst day ever, but it gets even worse when her attempt to catch her grandpa's psycho cat lands them on a different world far in the future just in time for dinner:
“I am not a barbarian,” he said quietly. “Not in the manner that you are thinking. You need to eat in order to live, as do I.” He rotated the poor little dead thing over the fire.
“Not that!” She looked down at the ground and swallowed hard. He patted a log that he must have placed by the fire while she was gone. Her legs were feeling weak and shaky, so she sank down onto the log, although it was far too close to what was impaled on the spit. “I guess I just never really thought about what we ate. Maybe I’ll just eat potatoes. You do have potatoes, right?”
He shrugged. “We cultivate potatoes in the village, but I have chosen to travel lightly.“
“Okay then.” She still felt ill.
“What are these French Fries?”
“Oh,” she smiled, a feeling of well-being washing over her, “you make them by getting a package of frozen, peeled, cut up potatoes, then dumping them into hot oil and letting them cook. They’re crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Then you get a whole bunch of ketchup, which is squished up tomatoes and sugar, and dip them in. They are unbelievably good!”