You know that hole was deep enough the fall could've killed a normal person, but still...
You pause to look around, trailing your flashlight over the stairs & walls. To your relief, there are no glowing lines or moving numbers. There are, however, alcoves hidden in the shadows to both sides. You think the left one has some sort of - ha, relief - carved in the very back. The right one has a pedestal, looking like the statue was stolen long ago.
After staring at the options for what seems like a month, you finally decide to go right. There's air up there, and you would like to have some sort of idea how to get out that doesn't involve scrabbling as a lizard up the side of that pit.
The stairs go up, and up, and up, but they don't seem to get any closer to the light, or to the breeze you can smell. You didn't go down that far, did you?
Okay, when T & I cook a turkey, we do it with the plan of eating it for a week.
But I'm thinking about feast-day meals, where the leftover have become part of our culture, and ... when these things originated, home refrigeration was not a thing yet.
So how did we get from "a big meal to feed us very well for a day" to "leftovers for a week"?
