Yesterday, I cooked some pre-made chicken cordon bleu. It wasn't as yummy as if I'd taken the time to make it myself, but it really wasn't bad. We hadn't had chicken in quite some time. Naturally, Smunch hated it. If it's not noodles, or cheese, or tortillas, he's likely to claim it's going to kill him...although the promise of dessert is often enough to make him resigned to his fate.
This time, he tried logic.
Smunch: If we keep eating chicken, there won't be any more eggs and I like eggs.
Hmmm. Let me think about that.