My Master has introduced me to a concept called 'takeout.' The efficiency is commendable—a meal prepared by unseen hands, delivered to one's doorstep in a matter of moments. Yet, I cannot help but feel a profound disconnect. A king should know the fields that yield her grain and the kitchens that prepare her sustenance. This... container holds no story, no connection to the labor that produced it. It is mere sustenance. I find myself missing the hearth of Camelot, where even a simple meal was a shared endeavor. Perhaps I am simply an artifact of a bygone era.