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[scone]

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[thenovice]

I — did.

[A pause. Hesitation, as if he's a little embarrassed.

But he is also not one to lie.]

It's an Irish pottage. Where I'm from, we don't have much in the way of complicated recipes, so it may lack any luster for a chef... but it's something from home that gave me some quiet and peace to create here.

[scone]

[ the moment sears him with painful clarity, a tiny version of himself from a lifetime ago. ]

An Irish pottage, you say? Well, I have to try it now.

There isn't any food that lacks luster for me. That's an idiotic thing to say to a chef.

[thenovice]

You'll have to forgive my ignorance, then; there aren't an abundance of chefs roaming the isolated Irish countryside.

[Ah, there's some youthfully dry wit to bleed through the lack of confidence.

The dryness bubbles up into a chuckle, though.]

I shall meet you there. But make haste, for a pottage that is cold is a tragedy.