Reminds me of the eskimo children who got fed up of a repetitive diet. When father came back from hunting they all cried and sang, Whale Meat Again.....
My mother told me that before I was born she and my father sat down to Sunday lunch (this was still wartime). The only thing available at the butcher's was whale meat. She prepared it as you would a Sunday roast. When they sat down my father took one bite and looked at her. She took one bite and looked at him. Together they both scraped their plates into the bin and she opened a tin of baked beans.