A/N – This story was inspired by a conversation on the Harmony & Co. Facebook page, where it became painfully apparent that the UK and the US do not speak the same language. Like, at ALL.
This is an outtake from my Harmonious Universe series, but it is not necessary to read the other stories in that series to enjoy this one.
o o o
"This is it?" Hermione said doubtfully, eyeing the unprepossessing little place on the quiet London street. The restaurant had a large plate glass window to the right of the door, but it was a bit clouded over, making it difficult to peer inside.
"Appears to be," Harry replied, pointing to the sign, which read Emelie's Eatery in a graceful large font. "Devins swears by the place," he reminded her. "And really, how badly can someone botch an egg?" He swung open the door, and gestured her ahead of him. They were greeted by a blast of heat as they entered.
"Oh, it's warm!" Hermione exclaimed. "I love it already!"
It was only January 10th but she was already sick to death of the cold weather and the non-stop drizzle this sorry month seemed to always feature.
The restaurant's interior was somewhat larger than it had appeared outside, indicating the careful use of extension charms. Perhaps a dozen tables for two or for four scattered the sunny yellow room, with a long table for larger groups along the back wall.
Baskets of leafy ferns and bright bougainvillea hung from the white ceiling, and cheerful murals and paintings decorated the warm walls. A half wall with an ancient cash register perched atop one corner of it separated the dining room from the kitchen, from which an enticing savory aroma wafted.
"Welcome! Sit anywhere!" the cheerful witch behind the register called out in an accent Hermione could not quite place.
They took a table along the far wall, well away from the door. Putting down her gloves and coat, Hermione asked "Would you order my usual for me, love? I just need to pop into the loo for a sec."
She was back a few minutes later, and reached gratefully for the steaming cup of tea her husband poured for her from the pot on the table. 'I'll conjure bluebell flames for my pockets on the walk back,' she thought. 'I wish I wasn't always so COLD.'
"Emelie said breakfast will be just a tick," Harry said, nodding at the woman behind the counter.
Moments later, Emelie approached their table, levitating their breakfasts in front of her and then with a gesture lowering them gracefully to the table.
"Y'all let me know if you need anything, and I'll be right back," the witch said, before heading for another table to refill that customer's coffee mug from the pot she carried with her.
Y'all. Suddenly Hermione placed the accent. Her mother was quite fond of a rather steamy 80's American film called The Big Easy, and particularly fond of the handsome actor who'd played the male lead. Dennis something, if Hermione remembered correctly - Emelie's accent sounded very much like his had in the role.
She and her mum had watched the film again together just two days before. Hermione had recalled being very taken with the wedding dress Ellen Barkin's character had worn, and her mother was only too eager to pull out the well-worn DVD so that her daughter could see it again.
She'd definitely loved the dress and, Hermione thought smugly, Harry's jaw was going to drop when he saw her in it in four months' time.
Harry had asked her to marry him just over a month ago, surprising her on a Monday morning when she'd been running late for work. It still made her chuckle to remember how atypically panicked he had been. They'd been together since 8th year – had he really thought she would say no?
After five years as a couple, neither saw any point to a lengthy engagement, but Hermione had insisted they wait for a spring wedding. It wouldn't actually be warm in early May, she thought glumly, but at least the weather should be somewhat better. And they would still be back from their honeymoon with time to finalize everything needed before the launch of their new school in September.
They'd ventured out into the cold, grey drizzle today with the goal of deciding where to go for their honeymoon. Harry wanted a spot new to both of them to explore, ideally someplace where they wouldn't be recognized. Hermione just wanted to go someplace warm.
Neither was particularly interested in the Caribbean, and they'd already visited the coast of Spain with a group of friends a few years before. She'd suggested southern Italy or perhaps Greece; Harry did want to go to both one day, but not necessarily for their wedding trip, since she'd been to both several times previously with her parents.
Finishing her egg, Hermione had started on her fruit. She was mentally preparing her arguments to make another impassioned pitch for Italy, when she finally noticed the food Harry was shoveling in.
"What on earth are you eating?" she asked in surprise, eyeing his plate with distaste.
"It's called biscuits and gravy," Harry told her, already forking up another bite. "And it's bloody brilliant. Devins told me it was the specialty of the house."
It looked like a lumpy white, gluey substance had been vomited onto bread. She wondered vaguely if the biscuits had been crumbled to create the lumps, because she couldn't see them anywhere. Either way …. "It looks vile," she said bluntly.
"But it tastes good, cher, yeah?" said an accented voice from behind her.
Blushing, Hermione whirled round in horror. She'd never intended for the proprietor to hear her. "I'm so sorry –," she started, only to notice Emelie beaming at her in obvious genuine amusement.
"Don't worry your head, cherie," the older witch said kindly. "It's not a good looking dish, and that's a fact. Here's your breadbasket."
Hermione gave a bewildered look at the small basket containing what appeared to be blueberry muffins and some type of fluffy scones. "Oh, but I don't think we ordered –?" She glanced at Harry for confirmation. His mouth was still full, but he shook his head. They hadn't.
"Biscuits and muffins come with every breakfast, cherie."
Biscuits? Now Hermione was completely confused. She gazed blankly from the basket back to the woman before her, who had started to chuckle.
"Land sakes, child, I am so sorry! I've only lived here twenty years – maybe if I am here another twenty, I'll remember that 'biscuit' means something entirely different in these parts. These here are Southern biscuits."
Noticing that Hermione's confused expression did not clear, she added firmly. "American Southern biscuits. "
American food. 'That,' thought Hermione, 'explained a lot.'
"We make biscuits and gravy," Emelie added, gesturing to Harry's rapidly emptying plate, "by cuttin' the biscuits in half and then toppin' them with sausage gravy. Looks like something the cat might have thrown up, doesn't it?"
Hermione bit back a startled giggle at hearing her thoughts so perfectly voiced. It really did.
"Tastes smashing, though," her fiancé chimed in. "The lumps are sausage. Bite?" He extended a filled fork in her direction.
Aware that Emelie was watching her, Hermione carefully took a small mouthful from Harry's fork. The flavor was really quite good, but the consistency was off-putting. It wasn't precisely mushy, but she'd always struggled a bit with softer foods.
Trying not to let her feelings show on her face, she swallowed, then took a sip of tea. "Mmmm," she said. "Thank you."
Emelie was laughing again. "Now honey, I know when someone hates my food. Too spicy? You tell the truth now."
"Too squishy, love?" Harry knew her pretty well. She nodded, glancing apologetically at their hostess.
"Ah! My youngest is the same," Emelie said to Hermione. "Now what he likes to do is to slather his biscuit with butter and honey. That way, the outside of the biscuit stays crisp and you get a bit of sweet with the bite." Nodding amiably at them both, she headed back to the kitchen.
Losing her battle not to laugh, Hermione wiped her streaming eyes. "Biscuits and gravy? I don't know what's worse – the image that title conjures or the actual visual on your plate."
Harry had already pulled a warm biscuit from the breadbasket, split it, and topped one half with butter and honey. His eyes closed in bliss as he bit into it, and Hermione realized with some indignation that she had always thought only she was capable of getting him to produce that particular noise.
"Here," he said, slathering up the other half and handing it to her. "One time offer before I finish off the basket, but trust me, you do not want to say no."
Cautiously, Hermione took a small bite. The sweet richness of butter, honey, and the warm biscuit swamped her senses.
"Merlin, that's good!" she exclaimed, her own eyes closing momentarily in ecstasy. They narrowed upon opening to find Harry commandeering the final biscuit from the basket.
"Hey!" Hermione objected. "Leave off! You've already eaten your own biscuits!"
"I'll go halves with you," Harry said, cutting the biscuit in two, "but that's the best I can do."
"We're going to need another basket," Hermione decided, waving Emelie over.
o o o
Several biscuits and two pots of tea later, they'd learned that Emelie was from a small magical community near New Orleans, Louisiana, and that she'd married a British wizard she'd met while back-packing through Europe twenty years before.
They'd initially planned to set up house in the US, but her husband's mother had fallen ill and he couldn't leave her. By the time Emelie's mother-in-law was gone, they had two children in school and did not want to uproot the family.
"But when he's out of the house," she said, jerking her head in the direction of her youngest, a teenager who was busy clearing tables, "THEN we are moving to Louisiana!"
Making a face at the dreary weather outside, she continued. "I really miss it on days like today. Mercy, but I hate the cold!"
She murmured to herself softly as she returned to the kitchen, "It's probably 18 degrees there right now." Hermione grimaced in sympathy. It wasn't even two in London. Eighteen sounded like heaven.
By the time Harry and Hermione left Emelie's Eatery, they were clutching big takeout bowls of the lunch special – something called red beans and rice, the taste of which had caused Harry to make that little moaning sound again - and a bag of fresh biscuits, covered in warming charms.
They were already planning to return the following day for lunch. If that lunch proved even half as tasty as the food they'd had today, Hermione had a feeling that New Orleans was going to be in serious contention for their honeymoon destination.
And it would be warm.
o o o
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