A brief snippet I wrote on Tumblr, exploring what I think is something very sweet and fundamental to Scar's Heel Face Turn; his friendship and fatherly relation to Mei.
Personally, I consider Ishvalans to be counterparts to the Hebrew, so I looked up Israelite foods for ideas here.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist
The night was coming, and staring silently through the tattered curtains of their current hiding place, the nameless Ishvalan who was wanted under the name Scar looked out, red eyes blinking under thin eyes as white as the sun-touched sands of his homeland.
The curtains moved back. He waited for the little pattering footsteps to stop before he said, not turning around, "It was reckless of you to go out like this."
May bowed her head, long braids flouncing against her shoulders. "I know, Mr. Scar."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. Dark lips parted briefly over teeth, and he snorted loudly. "I told you not to call me that."
"Yes, Mr. Scar!"
For a moment, he said nothing. Another snort, and it was hard to say if it was a stillborn laugh or just a noise akin to a dog barking. His shoulders rose and fell, the tattered fabric of the small cape he was wearing rolling up over the marks of a tattooed arm. Eventually he glanced at her, eyes softening slightly, and when his eyes widened nearly imperceptibly. For a man as self-controlled as him, this brief twitch was nearly a total surrender to emotion.
"I fixed some things in town," Mei said, voice low and embarrassed, as if she thought it humiliating that a princess of Xing should do the work of a repairman. "For money." She winced again, as if this was even worse. For his part, he remained silent; growing up in the harsh lands of Ishval taught many things, and among them that no labor was dishonorable. By the shoulders and sweat of the sons and daughters of Ishvala were mighty works of art and science made.
In her hands, there was a small container, steaming and still hot; thick strips of barbequed beef, thick with grease.
He swallowed reflexively, and gingerly took the box as Mei gave it to him. He inhaled, and it smelled like the homeland he had lost so long ago. He could only say, "How?"
"I found a nice lady who makes Ishvalan cuisine," Mei said. "I thought it would be nice for you." She smiled, hopefully.
His mouth creaked up in a genuine smile. "Thank you," He said, and though he thought that he hadn't had genuine mangal in years, that she had gone to such trouble to procure him a treat struck him more.
Briefly, he wondered if, he had been fortunate enough to earn a woman's favor and married, and if he'd been blessed with a daughter, she might have been a great deal like Mei.
"Thank you," he said again.