It's clear out, on the other side of the glass wall that separates the kitchen from the wilds of inland New Jersey. Dense trees, a glimpse of the above-ground garage, and unseen, miles away, the reconstruction at Wayne Manor is getting on just as it was before they were whisked away to a spaceship in another dimension. Alfred has already made the living quarters off of that kitchen habitable, keen to return, even though he assures Bruce he's merely keeping busy.

"Brown rice," is sort of an accusation for Clark having asked. Is this what you want? Well this is what you get, from this cabinet up here, and it's all your fault.

Fancy, organic brown rice, in one of those nice wax-lined paper bags. Bruce hands it over, closing the cupboard after. It vanishes back into well-crafted uniformity with the rest of the wooden panel.

"I learned to cook in college. It was all about under ten minutes."