[ as they wander along the street towards the closest grocery store, charles lets out a genuine chuckle over the curry it up, and if that doesn't show how far gone he truly is then nothing does — and then, with a bright, somewhat nostalgic grin, ]

Yeah, she's brills. Her chicken curry was the highlight of all the potlucks, you know, my cousins and I would fight over who got the biggest portion. And shit, her baked plum tart? Wish you could taste that... but I don't know the recipe. She only made that on special occasions, and wouldn't let me help with it.

[ he sighs as he stops in front of a store called 8-twelve, which, hm! but he pushes the door open even as he says, ] She loved cooking. Reckon she still does.

[ there's a touch of wistfulness there, enough for him to drop the topic as he starts gathering ingredients, spending the longest time in front of the spice selection. but maybe it explains why he is strangely invested in cooking despite thirty-five years of not needing to do it at all. ]

How about you? What's your favourite dish? [ he tries to sound very innocent, like he's asking just out of curiosity and not so he can just learn how to cook whatever it is... ]