"Well, mine was writing, but it is close enough." He waves a hand, displaying the slightly ink-stained fingers. "--If you'd have me, of course. It sounds a good deal better than what I would have myself," with a rueful grin. "I am no cook." He never had the time or the patience to learn, honestly, and he was in the cafe so often at home that it tended to be easier to order from there.

"My apologies for stealing you away from Voltaire, though."