"Should have moved East in 'eighty-bloody-three," he grumbles, setting it down again. "No, I can leave this for now; it'll keep on simmer until the next phase." He takes the apron off, replaces it with an equally dark waistcoat, reaches up to undo the thong binding his hair back and then decides to leave it in place. "We can see how that pub of yours manages consomme, if you like."