On one hand, by the look of Foggy, you wouldn't expect he'd be all that picky; on the other hand, he comes from a family with a butcher shop and delicatessen in their name. He knows the difference between rabiola and incavolata, he understands coffee and espresso are two very different emotional concepts, and there are very few things he won't try at least once.

Young coconut is new to him, too, and while he's fairly certain it's not as simple as unripe coconut, he is expecting a vaguely green taste, like bananas that are a little too young.

"I don't know that the peas need heated, but the other beans might be better hot. If we can... make a little stove, I don't see why it can't be literal. Especially if we keep a handy dowsing bucket nearby."

Flicking the lighter, he squints and grabs, finding an arm full of bowls and utensils. Maybe useful, maybe a mishmash of chopsticks and forks and weird spoons.

"I'm Foggy, by the way. Foggy Nelson. I guess we're neighbors for a while," he adds, equally uncertain of what's next. "Since my lock's caput, did you want to maybe hang at your place for a bit? At least until we finish eating? Or would that be weird?"