Roger wasn't trying to make her feel bad for perhaps not knowing what to do, and he certainly didn't think she was stupid. A faint smile did cross his lips at at the purse of her lips and the tone in her voice, though. When she began cutting the pepper just right, he smiled again, letting his fingers brush lightly over her arm as he replied, "I know you can. See, you're a natural."
As she cut, he turned his attention to other things. First he pulled a pan out of the cabinet, greasing it lightly before setting it on the stove. With a flick of his wand, the chicken breast was sent into the pan and the stove turned on to let them cook for a bit while they worked. (The key was to let the chicken cook first, then add the marinade after a short while, and let them finish cooking that way.)
Turning his attention to the marinade, he pulled out a small bowl from another cabinet and moved to the kitchen island. Roger's movements in the kitchen were much like his moves as an artist; smooth and confident, handling the food with an ease that was almost sensual. (He was a firm believe of the fact that food could be very sensual.) Into the bowl went chicken broth, basil, thyme and black pepper. One of the lemons was cut in half and the juice squeezed inside. The other he handed to Astoria, setting it on her cutting board as he said, "When you're done with the pepper, would you cut this for me as well? The same way, so we can have circular slices? Thank you, gorgeous."