Food in the drawers. Rice biryani.
It was one of her drunken modes. Anger Queen: don't tread on me. Naturally you don't, but she'll act like you did. Haughty stare, superior, followed with a fistful of food, thrown and smeared and ground with filthy bare feet into furniture and floors and walls and ceilings.
In the morning without a word she'd police the house, cleaning, looking at her feet, ashamed.