He's literally sunbathing as she's in the kitchen [chuckles] making lunch.

[chuckles] Um, and Eve kind of offers a corrective.

She says, "Adam's Earth's," uh, "Adam, a small store will serve where store all seasons ripe for use hangs on the stock, save what frugal storing firmness gains to nourish and superfluous moist consumes.

But I will haste, and from each bough and break, each plant and juiciest gourd will pluck such choice to entertain our angel guest as he beholding shall confess that here on Earth, God hath dispensed His bounties as in Heaven." So she kind of offers this corrective, like, "Adam," like, "everything is so amazing in paradise.

I don't really need to go to get the best stuff." And she's like, "Nonetheless, because you asked me, I will." And then we get this beautiful description of what she's able to do as she goes out into, um, a, a paradise and, and gathers things and thinks about rearranging them and mixing them.

"So saying with dispatchful looks in haste she turns on hospitable thoughts intent what choice to choose for delicacy best, what order so contrived as not to mix tastes not well joined in elegant, but bring taste after taste upheld with kindliest change.

Bestirs her then, and from each tender stock, whatever Earth all-bearing mother yields in India, East or West, or middle shore in Pontus or the Punic coast, or where Alcinous reigned, fruit of all kinds in cope, rough or smooth rind, or bearded husk or shell.

Uh, and that there's something really beautiful and utopian about its, uh, going on and on and on, I think.