Moody’s Meat Shop when there are clouds in the sky you'll get by
#1
Moody's ended up being her pit-stop for the day, rather than Just in Thyme, but upon reflection Etta didn't see why she couldn't try the whole smile-at-a-stranger (but not a strange one) there as well as anywhere else...it was a place she was reasonably familiar with, after all.

So, as she waited in the queue to speak to one of the butchers in the late-afternoon rush of the store, she first lifted her gaze from her boots and let it wander the shop at a reasonable level until...wham, she made eye contact with somebody. And without trying to overthink it, she smiled at them, hoping only that it didn't seem too forced or weird.
#2
Ther butcher's had been recommended to him not long after he'd moved to the county, and since his first visit he'd been admittedly hooked on their pork sausages with caramelized onion and apple. They'd become a weekly treat, as sad as it was to think of a fairly innocuous and commonly eaten food item as a treat. Still, it was nice to have traditions, and this weekly trip had become his. For whatever reason, the sausages he favoured didn't seem to be an incredibly popular item, but that just meant there was more for him, and if he didn't buy them all up... Well, whatever force was out there to judge him, he hoped it forgave him, because he also knew where he could guide his hungry hyena for dumpster diving in dire times.

Waiting in the queue, he turned slightly to look out the window and at the line still forming down the street. This place was popular, but it was certainly deserved. Done with his brief moment of people watching, he made to turn back round and then noticed that the young wish behind him was smiling. At him. Or wait, behind him? He looked, didn't see anyone facing this direction. At him, then! Well, perhaps she was worried that he was staring at her. He certainly was not! Returning her smile warmly, somewhat apologetically, he nodded in polite greeting. [q]Good afternoon,[q] he opined, then sort of half turned back in the direction of the counter. He didn't mean to make anyone feel uncomfortable!
#3
Oh...oh, okay, words were happening. Etta didn't exactly panic, but she hadn't mentally prepared herself to say anything interesting, either.

"...hi..." her voice was barely audibly to herself, though she tried to politely respond. She glanced out the front window of the meat shop, desperate for something to comment innocuously on. "...cold out today!" she remarked at last. At least he'd smiled back, and not in a way that seemed smug or smirky. She just had to realize that the world was full of mostly nice, normal people, not an army of hostile jerkbutts who wanted nothing more than to ruin her day and/or life...but it took some effort.
#4
Oh! So she was smiling at him! Should he have recognised her, he wondered? Had they spoken in passing? Maybe she knew him in another town before and he had, in a haze of moving and uprooting his entire life, forgotten about her? Or, of course... she could simply have been trying to be polite.

No harm in that! But unusual!

She spoke so softly at first that he was unsure if she was actually addressing him or merely practicing before making the attempt to address him, but he kept smiling softly, encouragingly. He couldn't simply turn away and end the conversation before it even began; that would be rude!

But could he carry on such an awkward interaction? That was the question...

"Mm, brisk," he agreed, taking another look outside. Gosh, it even looked cold, dreary and grey-cast. "Doesn't it feel as though this winter has dragged on for years?" One thing you could always count on a English gentleman to do - complain about the weather.
#5
"Yeah, it does," agreed Etta. It was certainly a more in-depth remark than hers. "I mean, I was ten years old when it started," she added impulsively. It was a weird feeling--humour as a panic response--and not at all familiar to her, where she usually just shut down and shut up. But she had told Oleander she would make the effort, and while he hadn't given any direct instructions about what to do besides smiling, she could extrapolate and assume that practicing further social interactions was the direction she was meant to be heading in. So even if her bicycle was wobbling towards a cliff-edge, at the very least, for the moment, she could tell herself you're doing it! You're doing it! as her feet jerked the pedals round and round...so to speak.
#6
Ah, an unusual sort of humour, playing off his complaint beautifully! If only small talk were a spectator sport! Chuckling in appreciation of her remark, he gave the world outside another glance so that he wasn't staring at his new companion in a weird, creepy fashion. Intuition told him to take a step backwards to rejoin the queue ahead. "Are you certain that wasn't your age when you joined the queue?" he asked, then wondered vaguely if his joke would land. If thought on too hard, that sounded creepy. But rather he meant that the queue had been long!
#7
"The end of this queue has thick-cut bacon, so I'm much more inclined to be patient with it," she rejoined, her smile re-appearing with greater ease, this time. He'd actually laughed at what she'd said! And Etta didn't think it was a sarcastic, mocking sort of laugh. (With four siblings, she definitely knew that tone when she heard it.) "...even if that bacon is probably still running around as a piglet, at the moment."
#8
"You have plenty of time to be patient," he noted easily, but again made certain not to look as though he was appreciating her body. He wasn't! He was sure it was fine but he wasn't that rude sort of man, thank you very much! "By the time I reach the end of this queue, I fear I may have to head immediately for some soft and cosy retirement home." There was a thoughtful pause as he looked back towards the counter. "Ah, but you're quite right; it's very much worth waiting for. I just hope the pork and apple sausages are still available... I can't quite see from here."
#9
Etta wouldn't have said this guy was old...okay, older, undeniably, but still. She wanted to politely protest, but then she reconsidered that this was probably all part of the casual joke-y conversation thing where people got hyperbolic.

She did her part to squint at the counter to try and get a look for the sausages in question, but from this distance, she couldn't make out the writing on the little labels, and she certainly didn't have a close-up enough view to distinguish what, exactly, was going on inside all that sausage-casing for flavourings and add-ins.

"Well you could always MacGyver something with plain pork sausages and cook down some diced apple and onion together into a quick relish or chutney sort of thing," she suggested, always ready to fall back on kitchen tips if she felt her ability to banter was sputtering.
#10
Ah, and she was something of a chef as well! Hm, well, she very well could be an actual bona fide chef. Miron wasn't bad at cooking by any means but was certainly no expert, but even to his untrained palate, apple and onion chutney as an accompaniment to plain pork sausages sounded absolutely perfect. The jittery, hungering hyena within didn't care what it got to crunch on, but was starting to get just a touch impatient with this queue...

Successfully ignoring the feeling of it twisting his empty stomach in knots, he focused his attention on the unexpected conversation instead. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

"I always find that chutney I make winds up tasting far too acidic," he pondered out loud, tapping his chin with his forefinger. "Do you make much of it yourself? Perhaps you have some wisdom to share on the matter!"
#11
"I haven't had much time to devote to making preserves lately," admitted Etta, somewhat ruefully. She loved the idea of it--storing up fresh things in bright clean clear jars and lining them up on tidy shelves until the cupboard was full. Maybe when she finally got around to planting her own garden and had her own vegetables and fruits and herbs growing in the yard...but for now the fuss and bother of going out and buying the amount of fresh fruit or whatever she would need to make a significant batch of home canning just seemed like overkill. She mostly made-do with quick pickles or bought some quirky sauce or paste from Just in Thyme. The nice man gave her a cooking problem to solve, however, and Etta couldn't help brightening a bit, for once feeling like maybe she wasn't on shaky ground when it came to trying to make interesting conversation. "...but you can always start with less vinegar or citrus than your recipe calls for, and taste it as you go...but if the batch is already made, a bit of sugar or honey won't mess too much with something like mango; but in a more savoury chutney you'll want to just try a pinch of baking soda--and no more than a pinch. Or if you can really afford to wait, let it mellow for a few months...the tang will die down as it ages."
#12
So this was an area in which she had some impressive level of expertise! Goodness, but he had been smiling an awful lot lately! That was... twice this week! He regarded the young woman with fascination, rather enchanted by her explanation. She had clearly come into her element in this thread of conversation and he wasn't going to whip it away from her. In fact, it made this whole spontaneous conversation much less awkward.

"You know, perhaps it is my recipe which is off. I do wonder... may I pick your brain for a while longer?"
#13
"Sure!" said Etta, weirdly thrilled to feel relevant, however minor the point. This was safe ground, she felt like. She hadn't felt that way about most conversations in a while. This was superficial and stuff she knew and easy answers.

She looked back at the queue, which hadn't moved.

"I'm not going anywhere in a hurry," she tried joking lightly.
#14
The scholar gave another huff of polite (but genuinely appreciative) laughter towards her remark that she wasn't going anywhere in a hurry. Certainly, it seemed neither of them were. In fact, an argument seemed to have broken out a few spaces ahead which would surely lengthen their wait by minutes.

So what else was there but to discuss chutney?

"Do you suppose the type of vinegar makes a great deal of difference? Besides the obvious difference in flavour profile, of course. Could the typical vinegar for a specific recipe be properly substituted with another? Or is it imperative to the flavour profile and overall palatability to stick with it?" indeed, perhaps it was the choice of vinegar that was his undoing.
#15
"Well, yeah, the sort of vinegar will effect the flavour, especially in recipes that call for larger amounts, but...you should use what you find you like best, even if it might not be the traditional version of a recipe," was Etta’s opinion. Most vinegars would chemically more or less have the same effect, so it really did come down to the flavours and what people preferred. "But your cooking vinegars will typically be different from your table vinegars. Like if a recipe wants a lot of plain white vinegar, it doesn’t make much sense to use several tiny bottles of artisanal vinegar that’s been infused with kaffir lime, unless the whole point is to get needlessly fancy. The flavoured vinegars are really more for delicate touches, fresh-made sauces or marinades, maybe. For a chutney I can’t imagine you’d need anything that wasn’t a standard wine vinegar or maybe an apple cider."
#16
White wine or apple cider... Miron touched his fingertips to his chin and looked towards the point at which wall met ceiling in thought, taking an instinctive step back as the queue ahead shuffled forward about an inch. Maybe even two inches!

"My family uses a recipe calling for malt vinegar, so that tends to be what I reach for," he explained slowly. He didn't think it was any harsher than any other vinegar. In fact, he was fairly sure it was known for being far less sharp than standard white vinegar. So if not the vinegar itself, perhaps it really was the amount that was his issue! This was rather an enlightening conversation, he thought. "Quite inoffensive, I should think, but then, i am not a food scientist." A chemist, yes. Food science expert, no.
#17
"Oh, I'm not a scientist at all!" Etta was quick to insist. "Just a cook." There was chemistry in that, of course, but there was chemistry in everything, wasn't there? That's what science was--all the workings of the world around them. But what happened in a pan to turn something into something people were happy to stick in their mouths felt different from what might happen in a test-tube in a lab. Though maybe some people wanted to stick that in their mouths. Probably scientists. "Malt vinegar should be fine," she mused. "I can't see that it might have such a noticeably different effect on a chutney. But you could try with different vinegars just to test the theory, and if the sharpness is still there, it must be something else going on with the recipe."
#18
Was it offensive to be likened to a scientist? Or did she believe that science was viciously gatekept to the degree that excluded people who actually used science practically in their work, like this lady did. Perhaps Miron had a generous view of who got to call themself a scientist. But her reaction was perplexing.

Electing to ignore it in favour of advancing the current conversation, he tapped a finger to his chin in thought.

"I do wonder if the type of onion makes much of a difference..." Obviously a shallot (which many chefs insisted was NOT an onion) would offer a different flavour to a standard white onion.... Though he didn't think that onions would really offer anything contributing to an especially sharp acidic flavour.
#19
"Probably not, if the issue is the vinegar overwhelming the flavours," mused Etta. There were subtle differences between onions, depending on how they were used, but she didn't think even the most pungent onion was going to win a fight with vinegar. "I feel like you're more likely looking at an issue with the fruits you're using, if they're not quite where they should be, for ripeness. If the fruit's too sour, the vinegar's only going to intensify that." Dried raisins and things should be alright, but maybe there was something fresh in there that was causing the upset--a tomato getting too tangy, a mango that was maybe a shade too green?
#20
Ahh, of course! It seemed rather obvious, laid out in front of him like that. A genuine grin was vanishingly rare from the scholar, but he managed one as she reached her breakthrough. Or his, more accurately.

"And you said you weren't a scientist!" he chuckled, moving with the line as though magnetically attracted to the gentleman in front. "Perhaps the tart apples and pears favoured by my family are among the culprits! I do feel rather foolish for not considering it."
#21
"Oh, don't--" Etta was shaking her head, hating to see anybody beat themselves up. (Ironic, considering her default settings for self-criticism.) "Could happen to anyone. Ingredients can vary so widely, especially when it comes to fruits and vegetables. And if you're only making a batch once or twice a year...whatever produce is available might not be consistent."
#22
What a generous dismissal of his self deprecation, a gentle forgiveness of his ignorance and an equally soft reprimand for feeling foolish. A kindness, certainly, but for a split second, Miron couldn't help but feel like he ought to be allowed a moment of shame if he wanted one.

"Quite true," he conceded, taking another step towards the front of the line. Things were moving along at last! "Even in the same batch, some items may simply have different properties... an especially tart apple, a bitter onion... Perhaps the apple tree in the garden had something to do with it."
#23
"Well now that's getting into horticulture, which is a little beyond my wheelhouse," admitted Etta lightly. (Or was it philosophy? If not the apple tree, then was it the soil? The sun? The point at which the universe came into being? Which was far too heavy to contemplate in the queue at a butcher's, so Etta staunchly refused to follow that train of thought down its maddening track.) "But then that's why cooking can be fun--even with recipes, even with practice, the smallest change can make some magical difference. So...taste as you go, and change tack to catch the wind that will take your food where you want it to go."

She paused, then scrunched up her nose.

"Sorry, the sailing metaphor was probably a bit much to drag into foodie talk."
#24
Horticulture was a little closer to Miron's personal interests but he kept that card close to his chest. Not for the sake of being secretive but rather not to overload this stranger with information she didn't want.

It was hard to make the scholar smile, let alone laugh these days. But he found a trickle of chuckling leave him, musical and gentle.

"You're a woman of many varied interests, I see," he said, actually rather charmed by the sailing reference.
#25
Etta found her nose wrinkling at the suggestion. Not that it was something she wanted to deny, but the way he said it sounded far too fancy for her brain and how it worked. Mostly she sputtered along like a wayward jalopy, careening curiously into this and that.

"I...just listen to a lot of podcasts, I guess," she said, shrugging. That and the loud music were a saving grace on intense workdays, and the upside of working alone in her own kitchen was there was nobody to sneer if she wanted the Disney soundtracks mix or a string of grisly Dateline episodes. (Which usually left her triple-checking the locks on all her doors and windows.) "I've never actually been sailing. Have you?"
#26
Podcasts! Not something Miron really engaged with but he still considered them a useful tool for learning. It was wonderful that there were a great many types to slake all sorts of academic thirst. And so accessible! Learning should be accessible to all. Podcasts were a great way to enable it.

He held his thoughts down, taking yet another step towards the counter.

"No, never," he sighed, as though disappointed in his life. Well... he sort of was, but not because of lack of sailing. " I've been on a couple of ferries but that hardly counts. "
#27
"Ferries still count more than the canoe I spent five seconds in when I was eight," said Etta, squinting a little as she remembered the slow wobble that had inevitably pulled her overboard. No harm done, in the end, but that had been her only real foray into boating.

"—I’m Etta, by the way," she tacked on the introduction awkwardly but quickly. If she was telling someone about her childhood they were probably at the name-swapping stage of chit-chat, right? Not that she knew for sure, she was improvising. Sausage Guy was being nice about her yammering, thankfully. He had a bit of an English sort of accent—maybe it was the steel-plated politeness British people were known for.
#28
Miron was of the opinion that spending any time in a boat you navigated on your own counted more towards sailing expertise than sitting on a ferry tour surrounded by drunk tourists in the mid afternoon, but as the queue advanced forward, he lost the thought to the frenzied Beast in his body that was now trying to pull his focus onto the many different meats they were going to consume.

Patience meant nothing to this creature.

"Miron. It's been a pleasure, Etta," he responded kindly, smiling softly as he took his place behind the next guy to be served.
#29
As they crept towards the finishing of their errands, Etta heard--or thought she heard--the delicate summation in what Miron said, and judged that this was her cue to gracefully exit the conversation. But she had to say something that wasn't 'well bye then', if the queue was going to keep them locked there for a few minutes more.

So she smiled again.

"Same."

And let it be.
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