"Hmm... I dunno. It still seems like it's missin' somethin'..."

"Missing what, Highwind?"

Cid bit his slip, thinking for a moment. He sampled again and still came up empty.

"Gee', I dunno Val'. Bite? Kick? Edge?"

Vincent stared at the pilot quietly, and with a soft grunt, he collected the dish in front of the pilot and returned to the stove top across the kitchen. There he ran a finger along the labels on a neatly organized spice rack and plucked a canister with a green lid from the assortment. Cid frowned and turned back to the spot where his bowl once was.

The gunman suddenly appeared at his side again with his bowl, steaming just as strongly as it was the last few times he brought it over. He held it out and Cid took it the same way he had every other time as well. He looked up at Vincent, smirked, and dug his spoon into the thick concoction.

Blowing on it twice, he drew it into his mouth. Let it sit, then chew. Once, twice, three times. Then swallow. Don't wash it down or the taste is gone.

Vincent ran his organic hand over the apron over his waist with a slight nervous twitch, waiting almost patiently. His claw rested behind him, tangling itself in the ties of said apron.

Cid blinked and stopped chewing his second bite. He turned his head to the gunman and smiled.

"Y'got it Vince. Jes' th' way I like it."

Vincent almost smiled as he went back to the stove and began scribbling little notes in a old, battered cookbook.

The only thing left to wonder now, was it going to take a dozen and a half tries every time they try to sit down to dinner?