My cat has developed increasingly strong opinions about food and will not shut up about them

There are many types of food made available to my cat. In an effort to avoid being meow-ed to death my wife and I are constantly providing her an assortment of food options. At this moment she regularly partakes in:

basic dry kibble
wet food (prescription, because she vomits)
freeze-dried raw chicken
Temptations (treats, but sometimes offered as a meal)
Churu (a tube of puréed meat, which she absolutely loves)

Mostly, feeding her is a game of trying to guess what she wants to eat, providing it on a plate, and hoping that it quells the meowing. Frequently, we get it wrong. There are only a couple exceptions to this procedure:

In the morning we always feed her dry kibble because she is most likely to puke in the A.M. The kibble seems to reduce this but—more importantly—it makes it a lot less disgusting to clean when she does vomit.
We never feed her Churus until later at night. This is mostly because we are gravely concerned that she will begin screaming for Churus incessantly, for all meals, if she gets a taste too early in the day.

Today, I struggled with her. It was a worst case scenario. She rejected all foods. She wouldn't even go for the Temptations, which is rare. I had been eyeing the Churu, in a moment of weakness. In a last ditch effort I tried one more thing. I'm not even sure what it inspired it. Desperation.

I got a separate bowl and poured a small amount of dry kibble (already refused) into it. Then, I brought that bowl into a different room. She had been watching intently, likely preparing her next meow, but as I moved past her out of the kitchen and down the hall, she instead began sniffing the air. She hopped after me with pupils at medium dilation.

I placed the bowl down on the floor of our entryway (foyer? entryway.) and she was on it immediately. She tore into it. Ravenous. Performative?

I tip-toed away to not trigger her skittishness. Her chomping was immense. My satisfaction was undeniable.

But, it couldn't last. Nothing ever does. In short order my fulfillment was replaced by a horrible realization. You must imagine it as if filmed as a lurching, high framerate scene in a horror movie. A scene where the subject has not only participated in something but—moving beyond that—took great joy in the act, but now must confront the consequences which are terrible beyond all imagining (e.g. all the guests realize that tonight's "delicious" dinner was, in fact, the host.)

Somehow, the room she was being served in had made the difference.

In addition to the careful orchestration of food types and timings, I must now consider the location of her meals. Or, even worse, the choreography of her dining experience. Dolly zoom and an overpoweringly dramatic string section, crescendo upon crescendo. She will never be satisfied. Screaming.

I agree that for many people the presentation of a meal is often just as important as the food itself. She is a cat, of course. And yet her sensibilities are seemingly multivariate, context-dependent, and increasingly specific. Her meows are no longer just sounds; they are a complex language of desire and expectation. My god, she has a great many things to say, always. She almost lives to meow.

Or, she's simply toying with us, because cat. This is, after all, an animal that will maintain eye contact with you while sliding a glass off a counter. Or, cooly push other pets down flights of stairs or banisters. Try to take out an unsupervised toddler in midday mortal combat. They are beautiful, wonderful companions, and also truly awful.

What a strange animal.