“So I should probably just tell you I'm about as green as these pistachios when it comes to macaroons. I've never even eaten one, let alone made---" I begin self-consciously, but Benny cuts me off.
"Macarrrons," he says, throwing his hands up emphatically and rolling the r for longer than seems necessary. Not macaroons. Important distinction, Reese's Pieces. Two different cookies."
I shake my head on an exhale, trying hard to keep my composure. "Right, well. Painful as it was to admit it the first time, I'll repeat that I've still never had a macaron, so you've gotta, like, tell me what to do."
Benny grins at me, then looks directly into the camera. "It would be my honor."
He shuffles around more bowls and I mock-whisper to the imaginary audience, "Apologies in advance to, well, feminism as a whole."
"Did you say something?" Benny teases, pushing the pistachios toward me with finality. "There are just so many recipes, so much knowledge in my head that sometimes it's hard to hear anything outside it, you know?"
"Keep it up, Benjamin," I say in the warning tone that my mamaw would use to tell my papaw that he should very much not keep it up.”