Of course they do. “Right. Well, these taste of... apple. Which is pleasant enough, once you get used to it.”
Dyfri sets the apple back with careful precision. “I’m sure they’re perfectly adequate for human palates.”
The diplomatic way he says it makes me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. Even when discussing fruit, he’s being careful not to offend.
We make our way through the produce section, Dyfri providing increasingly surreal commentary on the differences between human and fey food. Apparently, fey vegetables glow softly when they’re ripe, their bread is made from grains that only grow in moonlight, and their honey is collected from bees that feed exclusively on dream flowers.
“Do all fey foods have magical properties?” I ask, adding some particularly expensive-looking mushrooms to our trolley.
“Not magical, exactly. But they’re... more alive than human food. More connected to the natural world.” He touches a tomato gently, as if checking for something I can’t sense. “These have been severed from their life force for too long.”
I look at the perfectly normal tomatoes with new eyes. “Is that why human food doesn’t taste right to you? Because it’s not connected anymore?”
“Partly.” He moves on to examine some herbs, crushing a sprig of rosemary between his fingers and inhaling deeply. “This is better. Herbs retain more of their essence even after harvesting.”
Mental note, buy lots of herbs.
“What about meat?” I ask as we approach the butcher counter.
“Hunting is a sacred art. Preparation of the body involves rituals. The idea of anything else is…” He wrinkles his nose. “Distasteful.”
“Okay, so we’re looking at vegetarian options. What about dairy?”
“Acceptable, as long as the animals are treated well.” He pauses by the cheese display, examining a wheel of aged cheddar with scientific interest. “Though our dairy products tend to be more... effervescent.”
“Effervescent?”
“They sparkle. Sometimes they sing.”
I stare at him. “Your cheese sings?”
“Only the really good cheese. Though I don’t think humans can hear it.”
This is going to be more challenging than I thought.
I watch him navigate the aisles with growing fascination. He moves through the shop like he’s conducting an anthropological study, examining packaging with intense curiosity, reading ingredient labels with the sort of focus usually reserved for state documents. When he picks up a jar of jam and turns it over in his hands like it’s a fascinating artifact, I have to resist the urge to kiss him right there in the preserves aisle.
“The variety is remarkable,” he murmurs, studying a display of different honey varieties. “In the fey realm, we have perhaps three types of honey. Here you have...” He counts under his breath. “Seventeen different options just in this one shop.”
“Choice paralysis is a real problem for humans,” I tell him. “Sometimes, having too many options makes it harder to decide.”
“And yet you seem to be selecting items with confidence.”
I glance at our trolley, which has somehow filled up with an eclectic mix of expensive ingredients and comfort foods. “I’m just buying things that look like they might bridge the gap between fey and human cuisine. Lots of herbs, fancy oils, anything that sounds remotely magical.”
Dyfri’s smile is small but genuine. “That’s actually quite strategic.”
An hour later, we return to our flat with bags full of the most exotic ingredients Waitrose had to offer. Truffle oil, saffron, elderflower cordial, artisanal honey, organic vegetables. If I can’t make fey-style food, at least I can make human food that’s interesting enough to hold Dyfri’s attention.
“Right,” I announce, rolling up my sleeves. “Lunch. Something properly delicious.”
Dyfri hovers uncertainly by the kitchen island. “Are you sure you don’t want me to assist?”
“I want you to supervise. Tell me if I’m doing anything that would horrify a fey palate.”
He settles onto one of the bar stools, watching me with the sort of attention he usually reserves for political briefings. It’s both flattering and slightly intimidating to have that laser focus directed at my cooking skills.
What follows is possibly the most collaborative cooking experience of my life. Dyfri provides a running commentary on fey culinary techniques while I attempt to adapt them to human ingredients and equipment. Apparently, fey cooking involves a lot more singing to the vegetables and considerably less actual heat.
