Lindir gave the woman a Look when she brought cow milk to the table. It was disgusting, and he showed it on his face as he stared down into the glass, then sniffed it. He grimaced and put it back down, reaching instead for the pastry. That in hand, he delicately picked it apart with the grace of an elf and ate it tiny piece by tiny piece.
"Oh aye," he said a moment later, still picking at the pastry. "I am Lindir, Minstrel in the House of Elrond." He flashed her a smile, childish and sheepish in nature as if it were some great secret or remarkable feat and sometimes it was! The House of Elrond attracted all manner of poets, minstrels and things and it was a heavy competition to be praised during high feast times when everyone came together.
He fingered his harp case and brought it closer to himself, glad it came with him from New York. It made him look just a bit more prideful as he held it, his face changing subtly. "Valar, but you haven't heard elven music, have you?"