"It got me too, when I first arrived." It wasn't the worst mess Tony had seen in this kitchen (that was partially his and Peter's fault, surprising a hungry teenager when an uncaffeinated zombie ended in a lot of swearing and flailing), and therefore wasn't worth much commentary. Milk from the ice box poured like a highball cocktail, no ice, all flourish before Tony offered it over. "Drink. I got this."

If he wanted to eat he'd need to clean up, no hired help to be found here. Well. There was but the currency only ever meant more work for him which was as helpful as it was potentially exhausting. Trying to work out the slushie machine problem continued to boil down to finding a proper refrigerant and he didn't have near enough access to half of what he'd need to make that happen. Tony wiped up the last of it, squinting around for anything that he knew how to put together without burning anything. Himself included. "Came to grab something I could carry back to the forge. There's usually soup on."

Soup was- Pot, water, onions? Onions. Carrots. Potatoes. Fuck it. Tony started grabbing a little bit of everything and diced it to a relatively uniform cube before chucking it in the pot. Food would happen eventually.