The bat flies into the kitchen, where the flies bat the cooks. What is the deliciousness I smell? Someone opens a window onto the Ringworld beach. It's the mechoooouuuuiiiii! And the bat, seizing 16 pairs of French sunglasses, whirls out and starts pulling pieces of lamb onto a banana leaf, scoops some juice onto the couscous, and finds a pouffy anemone-looking beanbag in the shallows to gorge. Drips rinse right off that way.
After a short digestive nap, the bat crawls in that weird not-flying bat locomotory fashion over to the clambake pit, gathering a large quantity of melted butter within the cone they made out if the banana leaf they'd licked clean, plus a wingful of clams and three cobs of corn, and settles back on their pouffy beanbag to overeat some more...
A kind Old Lady settles nearby, dipping crumpets into the excessive amounts of melted butter in the leaf-cone stuck into the sand.
An even kinder bird with slightly singed feathers pelts the bat with forgotten lemon wedges, and carefully places a nice little StJacques' shell of mignonette between bat and lady...

What is for dessert? wonders the overstuffed beanbag-sitter, rolling off and into the sea for a refreshing, cleaning, and crudités-less dip. Sure hope it's got chocolate in it. And where is that white widow?