It was strange to be waited on, to have Jefferson cooking and bringing the food and drinks to the table himself. This wasn't how he'd been treated before. But there must have been a reason; Agent Barnes couldn't imagine a scenario in which his handler would wait on him without good reason.
A cup of tea was set down in front of him, and he was informed of the temperature. He wasn't sure why he would have been handed a cup of cold tea out of a kettle that had whistled, but he took the instruction for what it was: explicit notice that drinking the tea would physically hurt him if he wasn't careful.
They liked to avoid having to repair him.
"Thank you, sir," he said. "The fish is well-cooked." He wasn't quite sure what else to say; was he supposed to be enjoying it, or was he supposed to be telling his handler that his prowess in the kitchen was unmatched? "You're a skilled cook." At least it was something more than 'well-cooked'.