There's a skip of a beat before Matthew agreed, nodding a couple of times before shuffling down the bench a little and sitting down. He didn't want to lie to the Pope - in any incarnation - so he took his cane apart again and set it in his lap where he could keep silently fiddling with it to calm his nerves.
"I'm blind, but- but it doesn't mean I can't... sense a few things. I'm sorry, Holy Father. I don't want to lie to you. Or offend you. I was just-... expecting something different." Not that it was a bad thing, of course. Matt could get used to a New Yorker Pope who liked his thin crust pizza and had been to Totto Ramen. He seemed a little more at ease as memories of better days started bubbling to the surface.
"I used to go all the time. Chicken Paitan. It's quieter on Tuesday nights." He tilted his head towards the pontiff, committing a few details to memory.
"I know every single item on every menu in every Thai restaurant from 30th up to 95th. I don't think UberEats would deliver to Vatican City though."