Clint was definitely not going to hold something like that over his head, mostly because sometimes, on the bad days, Clint ate the same way. One arm up on the table acting as a barrier between his dish and others, bent over close enough to it that he didn't spill anything, chewing and swallowing almost as quickly as he could get the next bite in.

He wasn't quite that bad at the moment, though he did keep his arm up around his plate, that much was an ingrained habit that he couldn't kill but could sometimes suppress, when he had to. For the time being, he was eating somewhat more slowly than Izumo, but still quickly enough to make sure he got seconds if he needed them.