Billionaire Astronaut Seeks Domestic Perjurer for Indiscreet Poultry Encounters

I recently chuckled my way through a book of essays by David Rakoff called "Don't Get Too Comfortable." It was not as good as I hoped it would be (it had such potential!) but it was pretty funny, and alas, his vocabulary brings me true joy. The book, according to its cover, is about "The Indignities of Coach Class, the Torments of Low Thread Count, the Never-Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems" and it basically makes fun of excess. Anyway. I was fondly reminded of the book when reading the news about Martha Stewart cooking up roast quail for her billionaire inamorato to eat in outer space. What a waste of a perfectly good bird. (I'm not talking about Martha.) What is wrong with the freeze-dried ice cream?