There's really nothing like having his ego stroked by her adoration from the inside. He'll have to make a point of whispering naughty things to her in this voice from now on. For the time being, however, he'll return to his customary Midwest accent. It's easier to stick to just this one after all the training he put himself through to cultivate it. But, just before he does switch, he lets her hear a long rippling chuckle in his native accent, because it's worth burning the eggs just to see her reaction to it.

"Do you pray before every meal?" he asks her as he settles at the table. He's the picture of prim and proper with his elbows up off the table to slice into her eggs.

The first pass with the knife barely does more than pop the yolks. He laughs at himself, and then speaks up to let her in on the joke. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at your cooking. I'm so very used to using only the barest amount of my own strength lest I break the plate in half. I'm still adjusting."

But, here now comes the moment of truth. He takes a bite and... moans so obscenely one might wonder if River has a caller over after all. "Dear God, I forgot how different the taste of food really is."