GR translation: thick palatals of their hunger

[Mike Jing]

P11.33-39   He gazes through sunlight’s buttresses, back down the
refectory at the others, wallowing in their plenitude of bananas,
thick palatals of their hunger lost somewhere in the stretch of
morning between them and himself. A hundred miles of it, so suddenly.
Solitude, even among the meshes of this war, can when it wishes so
take him by the blind gut and touch, as now, possessively. Pirate’s
again some other side of a window, watching strangers eat breakfast.

What are these "thick palatals of their hunger"?  Is it the sound of chewing?