The plum sauce experiment was a success, in terms of palatability. Eaten cold, Coraline-au-prune still made for quite the dusty dish, but after heating in the microwave, the basement was barely detectable. The sauce permeated the paper completely, and congealed into a caramelized gum at the rim of the plate. It wouldn't pass for haute cuisine in a million years, but it came close to tasting like food. I cooked up another fifteen pages this way, and ate nearly all of it. The rest went in the fridge for later. I'll take it to work in a sandwich tomorrow. Not only should that improve the taste, but it will also conceal what I'm doing. People might get suspicious if I keep taking my meals in the men's room.
All of which leads me to wonder, should suffering be part of the experience? Should I be trying to make this easier on myself, or should I be choking down every bitter page on the sly? Do I need to taste the ink and paper, or is the simple act of eating it enough?
I don't feel any different yet, apart from an uncomfortable heaviness in my gut.