The food appears to be the first shock. Visitors arrive expecting hamburgers. This is understandable. Our reputation abroad appears to consist largely of hamburgers, cowboys, and action movies.

Going out to eat with Eve is not dining. It is an event. Possibly one requiring permits.

A couple of years ago, I joked on Facebook that my cooking style is basically like being on a TV competition show. I’m handed three seemingly unrelated ingredients and told to create a meal. “You have sea bass, artichoke hearts, and blue corn chips… Bake!”

Her jade-green head tipped into the kitchen, silver highlights catching the oven’s glow, nostrils flaring on a scent that wrapped the room like a promise. Cookies.