Cho nods her head. "I try to." She reminds herself, after just a moment, that that could be confusing in English. "I mean, I like to, so I make an effort to cook something whenever I have the time to. My mother used to make me the most delicious soup whenever I was sick. It was a noodle soup, with fish stock, and seafood, and fried tofu. Everything from scratch. It always tasted like love. I thought it was so amazing, how she could do that, how she could make everything better with a bowl of soup."

It's a nice memory, and Cho is smiling as she grabs a plate and folds the omelette onto it. The eggs need to rest for a moment, and so she turns the heat way up under the pan, and takes one of the rounds of flat, yeast-less bread she's made for sandwich wraps, pressing it down in the remaining bit of oil and warming and crisping it up. She flips it onto the counter to cut it into quarters, then she grabs Kieran a fork out of the cutlery organizer and nods her head at the long tables just beyond the kitchen. "Do you want to sit out there?"