Here’s a scene that Terri shared earlier today, in the spirit of Thanksgiving feasting:
Mary got up, put the kettle on for another cup of tea and heard footsteps on the staircase. Ian appeared in the kitchen a moment later. “You wouldna have enough water in that pot for another cuppa would you?” he asked.
“Sure, there’s plenty,” she replied, and then she reached up to the cabinet. “And if you stay downstairs and actually carry on an adult conversation with me, I’ll share my Oreos with you.”
He immediately pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. “And what would we be talking about this fine morning?” he asked with a grin.
She put a number of cookies on a plate and set it before him. “See, I like a man who’s easily bribed,” she said. “Now why can’t I trade Bradley some cookies for my freedom?”
Ian picked up a cookie and bit into it.
“Wait, you don’t eat those like that,” she objected. “You’re supposed to twist the top off and eat the center first.”
Ian held the partially consumed cookie in his hand and looked at her inquisitively. “You have rules for how you eat a cookie?” he asked.
Mary shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Well, not all cookies,” she explained, “Just some cookies.”
“Aye, and where would a fellow be finding a handbook that gives you instructions on the whys and wherefores on cookie eating in the States, then?” he asked.
She sighed. “Never mind, just bite it,” she said, turning away from him. “I just can’t watch.”
He grinned at her, then twisted the top off the cookie and held a part in each hand. “And now, what’s the next step, oh wise instructor?”
“You scrape the frosting off both sides,” she said.
“You don’t eat the frosting with the cookie?”
“No, you scrape it off with your teeth and then you eat the two chocolate cookies by themselves.”
“Well, then, why don’t you just buy unfrosted chocolate cookies?” he asked.
“Because…,” she paused, trying to come up with a rational explanation.
“Aye, because…” he prompted.
“Because it’s a custom and the frosting prepares your palate for the chocolate cookies,” she finished quickly.
Ian tilted his head and studied her for a moment. “A custom is it?” he asked.
Nodding, she grabbed a cookie from the plate, twisted it open and scraped the frosting from the middle. “A custom,” she reiterated, her mouth filled with frosting.
Ian scraped the frosting from the cookie and then took a bite. He chewed carefully, analyzing the flavor sensation of the bare cookie. Finally, he nodded and smiled at Mary. “It does make a difference,” he admitted.