To give the hotel heir a true Southern welcome, I’ve made the breakfast to end all breakfasts—scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy.
While he refills his coffee I build his plate, cracking open a biscuit, slathering it in butter, and drowning it in white sausage gravy.
He stares at the plate when he sits down. “What is that?”
“What?” I lick a splotch of gravy from my thumb. He stares at me for a second before pinning his focus back on the meal. “What’s what?”
“The white stuff.”
“It’s gravy.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. It’s not beef gravy. It’s white sausage gravy.”
“What’s it sitting on?”
My gaze swishes from side to side. Am I on a revamping of the showPunk’d? Is someone going to jump out and tell me that this is a joke?
But when Pane studies me expectantly, I reply slowly, “It’s a biscuit.”
“The white thing is a biscuit.”
“Yes, and that’s sausage gravy on top of it.”
“Is it good?”
“No, it’s awful,” I deadpan. “That’s why I’m feeding it to both of us.”
His eyes narrow before he picks up his fork in his left hand and glances at the spot on his right. “Where’s the knife?”
“The knife?”
He nods, very serious. “Yes, the dinner knife.”
I’ve never used a knife at breakfast, but there’s a first time for everything. “Do you mean a butter knife?”
“No, not a butter knife.”
“A steak knife?”
“No, not a steak knife.” He rises. “Where’s the cutlery?”
I blink, trying to wrap my head around this weird conversation. “Thesilverwareis in that drawer.”
“Thank you.” He drops his napkin on the table, gets thebutterknife, and sits back down.
I point to it. “That’s a butter knife.”
“No. It’s called a dinner knife. Butter knives are smaller.”
Well, you learn something new every day.
I watch with fascination as he holds his fork in his left hand, the hilled side pointed toward the ceiling. Then he cuts the biscuit with thedinnerknife (what a peasant I am for not knowing this) in his right hand. The fork enters his mouth with the wrong side facing up, and I can’t help but be mesmerized by this way of eating.
My trance breaks when Pane closes his eyes. “Oh my God.”
“What? Is it bad?”
