You savour a slice of pepperoni pizza in the Rhodes Plaza Mall food court, admiring the hustle and bustle around you. But then, in an instant, the hum of mall-goers morphs into a low, echoing murmur, and the air takes on a strange, buttery sweetness.

The tables around you stretch and twist, forming wooden benches and a judge's stand draped in vibrant red and white candy-cane stripes.

The soda machines transform into a jury box, filling with animated foods who shoot you stern looks—foods you recognize from your own history of meals: burgers, fries, eggs, vegetables, and so many others.

A warm, crusty loaf of bread in a bailiff's uniform steps forward and claps you on the back.

"All baguette to your seat, defendant,"

it orders in a voice crusty with authority.