I'd start force-feeding you something else.

[Gabriel's reply is prompt while he goes hunting for a glass and runs Balthazar some water, setting that down, equally pointedly, on the counter next to the other angel.]

Pies, maybe. Or cakes. Tabasco cakes. Huh, maybe I should give that a try.

[The bread is actually good. It's fresh and there's a faint taste of honey to it. Not exactly manna, but it's close.]