"South American. Well, it sounds good," Faolan says, eyeing the pot on the stove as he does. "Smells good too, even," he adds, with a quirking smile as he does. "Sounds like a Stobhach Gaelach, really. No one can really agree what's in one of those, either. No doubt 'whatever you've got'. But I've no doubt that the flavors are different, all things considered." South American and Irish, they'd have to be pretty far from each other, even if the concept and even some of the ingredients are the same. It's all in the flavoring, no doubt, which has to be different from what he's familiar with.

He reaches for the water glass, taking a few sips before setting it down again. "I hope it isn't too much trouble," he says, after a moment, gesturing around him at the flat. Not just the kitchen, but everything. "Having me here, I mean," he specifies again. All this fussing, he wonders if maybe it is, a little, not quite understanding where it's coming from.