“I’m all for it,” Ira said to Alida in a stage whisper, stabbing a tomato for theatrical effect as Ori stuck her tongue out at him. “She’s gotten off easy from me for years, but she won’t argue against your authority. Won't she.” He smiled benignly as his sister made to show him a finger, but wisely thought better of it and returned to enjoying her steak.
“It really is good, though,” Ira echoed, reaching over to saw apart an improperly-sized piece of Alida’s steak in half.
“Yeah, you’ll have to give me the recipe later,” Ori added, after a swallow of lemonade. “I think Papa would love to try this.”
“Is that flambé part—“ Ira mimed tossing a pan with his fork, looking nowhere near as alarmed as he actually was at the thought “—a must? Is it hard to do?”
“Only if you’re you,” Ori said automatically, munching happily on a mouthful of asparagus. “It’s not that dangerous for someone, y’know, halfway competent at cooking.”