I’m far from it, but I like to think I make a decent bowl of stew at the very least.

[ She offers said bowl and a spoon to him first, setting the bread aside next to the pitcher of water from earlier. Once again, she perches on the edge of the bed, observing as he eats for a short while before, ]

If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you do for a living, Mr. Faraday?