[England is poking the potatoes with a fork from the stove, glaring at Australia.

they are burning still. but like in the story of the boy who cried wolf, England refuses to check this time]

I'm not falling for your tricks, Australia! Now go and get the knives and forks from the drawer, it's nearly ready.

[Poke, poke, poke. Ah, there's that smoky burning smell that's so familiar. yum.]