Seeing the sad smile, Willie decided to never really mention how he died again. He did understand that not everyone was so relaxed about death and that different cultures handled it differently. It was nice, though, in the hotel, to not have to put so much effort into being a force to interact with things and be almost solid at times was exactly how the Club attracted other ghosts into its trap. He should have felt more at home in the haunted hotel; if it wasn't for that unlining knowledge of how his boss' place worked.
Willie smirked. "Loco Moco is essentially beef topped with gravy and an egg on a bed of rice. It is wicked good. My grandmother used to make it for me."
As they entered the kitchen, Willie looked around with amazement. "I didn't think this would be like, so up-to-date of a kitchen." He ran his hand over the counters as he became intangible, walking through a rolling cart that was in the way.