Me. You. Coffee.

“I feel like I’m foie gras,” Paul said as he massaged another Spanish sausage down his gullet.

“You don’t have to eat it.” Kate raised an accusatory brow.

“It’s all inclusive. If not now, then when?”

“It’s only the 3rd day and you’ve cleared every plate.”

He looked like butter wouldn’t melt. 

“I can’t abide food waste,” he said, scoffing another buttered prawn.

“That’s very noble, but you don’t have to try everything on offer.”

“Spice of life. Besides, it’s disrespectful if I don’t. They’ve gone to all this trouble.”

Paul mopped up the remnants of chorizo oil with a crusty roll.

Kate watched the bread disappear into the abyss.

“You’ve looked thinner,” she said.

“When?” Paul looked down at his waistband.

“Last week.”

“Last week feels like 4 weeks ago,” he said.

“I’ve lost time and space and replaced it with cheese in oil and little sausages.”

Kate dabbed her lips with a napkin. 

“You’ve lost space alright.”

“When we get back I think I might sell my belt on eBay. It no longer serves a purpose.” He eyed up the leftover scraps on Kate’s plate.

“Are you going to eat that?” He stabbed at a potato before shoving it in his gob. 

“Last night I saw a little girl with a plate of fries, sweetcorn, two types of mystery meat and a green jelly. I clocked her spooning on some coconut ice cream as the Coup de grâce!”

“Sounds horrendous.”

“I stood in awe; she was inspirational. I’m telling you, the brain knows fewer barriers at 6 years old.”

“Is that what led you to pair Roquefort with cherry cheesecake at lunchtime?”

“The clue is in the name. It’s been staring us in the face for years. We just needed to be freed of our boring day-to-day kitchen shackles so that our imagination could tease out the culinary genius.”

Kate looked disgusted.

“Was it though?”

“Was it what?”

“Genius?”

“Ah. No. But it was cheesecake. I’ll stand by that.”