Crowley had taken a moment to gaze upon the art that lined the halls of the museum on this world, but watching the angel eat was art in and of itself. Crowley needn't ever taste food himself as long as he could watch Aziraphale taste it. The way he loses himself to it, every fraction of an expression change, every sound, the way he holds his food, perfection.

"Wonderful." he answers, having not taken a bite. His own skewer sits untouched in his hands, his gaze still locked heavily on the angel.