I acquiesced. Sure, we can make dill. After all, his dill-making was very promising - at least after the initial fear factor. We end up making plans to go out on a Saturday to catch a live band at the Troubador. I'd realized very early on that my fine dining looks were likely making his wallet cringe in fear and the morning before we meet I text him to say that I planned to have an early dinner at home, which I actually did. I meant alone but he replies quickly, "Ok, sounds good, I join you.". Huh?
I guess it wasn't too far an assumption for someone like him to make. He was probably feted by a household of women only too grateful to slave over a hot stove for him. In fact he did actually tell me once that back in Serbia his family baked their own bread AND mulled home-made fruit brandy called rakija, which while very heart-warming to think about, is a touch stone age for me unless you own a vineyard cum restaurant. I couldn't exactly un-invite him and not have it considered rude. Sigh, so cooking it was.