It tastes like pork in mushroom sauce and it’s mouth-watering. Mikhail’s dish looks like pork as well, cut in small slices and with heavy seasoning over it. It smells amazing, so I lean closer, prick one piece of meat with my fork, and stuff it into my mouth.
“You like it?” There is a barely visible smile on his lips, as if he’s amused with me stealing his food.
He should smile more. I stab a piece of meat from my plate and lift the fork toward him, wondering what he’ll do. Mikhail looks at the fork, then to me and leans forward, taking the offering.
“Absolute perfection,” he says while looking right at me, and I think he is not talking about food.