She had the chance to cook for him once, when the kitchen was free..

A bit of jerk marinade would be alright, she thought, but surely the whole bottle would be a better way to flavour that chicken but good.

Fast forward to supper time the next day, when potatoes and vegetable were plated, as were the golden brown chicken legs..

”How much spice did you add?” asked her gracious friend, who though a lover of chicken, was now making a great effort to swallow the tender thigh meat that was registering in the danger zone behind his lips and teeth.

”My mouth is on fire,” he added, pushing the plate away with much of the bird untouched and reaching for water, milk, whatever he could find to quench the inferno.

”Couldn’t you have made perogies? Something you knew how to do?”

“I was trying to impress you, make something from your culture?!”

“Did you read the instructions on the bottle?”

She shook her head.

”Next time don’t try so hard,” he said with a wink. “Let’s go grab a pizza.”