She seems rather crazed. Not hard to imagine that ladle cracking across your temple at high velocity when you asked when the grub was ready.
Good thing they tell you it's permissible to serve it at 12 M - many a frazzled hostess found herself approaching the witching hour with a batch of boozed-up menfolk in the knotty-pine basement, bellowing for somethin' to keep the likker down, and she opened up Twelve Dream Dishes, desperate for ideas, only to find that the breakfasty dish was slotted for a ten PM launch. Oh drat! Oh just drat it all!