Nostradamus gestures to a piece of white sandwich bread. "What's the point of having something so flimsy? It's more like...a particularly limp cake than any sort of bread I'm familiar with. A good trencher wouldn't turn to mush, because it has the structure to support what you put on it."

Look, look, he's willing to try things. He just can't even comprehend the purpose of such a sickly loaf.