Oh dear, there he went again with another monologue. Men really enjoyed the sound of their own voices, didn't they? His accent was hard enough to follow, the content even harder. Nesah didn't have an artistic bone in her body. She liked things to be concise and clear. She liked to talk about what was there, not the artistic meaning that lay behind it. A poor person looked dirty. A dying man was an ugly, maybe sad sight, but she found it hard to see any kind of beauty in either.

She soon found herself zoning out, her attention shifting to the meal she hadn't ordered. "Most people are boring," she stated tersely. "I had ordered eggs... What kind of meat is this?"

He raised a brow.  She apparently didn't want to discuss the art.  Or she would have interacted with him on the topic.  Not a problem, some asked questions to pretend to be interested to be around him because of who he was.  She didn't know that, so perhaps she was just not deep enough to really see what was there.  Some were just for the surface not the feeling that the art brought.  Those he could have real conversations with. 

He still had not figured out this woman.  He still found her interesting, as she was a mystery.  That look she had and how she stood out on the beach as if challenging the waves in a kind of defying kind of look.  Proud.  He could be wrong, but the image he had drawn had felt that kind of feel to it.

"Some can be."  He agreed.  Usually, the snobs and those that thought they were better than those around them bored him.  He found them shallow.  Some of the private drawings he had drawn dogs and animal faces on some he had been hired to do portraits of.  Not that he would have shown them that version of the drawing/painting, of course.  He had just felt they looked like that in his head and had to put it on paper from time to time.  A crow, a frog, a bulldog... etc.

"Usually, the eggs are covered in some kind of sausage and then breaded.  A light snack or lite meal."  He shrugged wondering if she would eat it or snub it.

Nesah was blissfully unaware of the fact that she ran the risk of being portrayed as an animal if she continued to be such a snob. She frowned down at the food sulkily. "Sausage? Is it..." she tried to tink of the word. "Pig?" She looked up at him.

He looked at it the items on her plate thinking about it.  He'd had various kinds of sausage but figured most were pork.  "It's often pork, but could be beef or poultry."  He replied trying to remember what the cooks put in when they made sausages when he would bug them in the kitchen when he was a kid.  Along with salt, spices and other flavourings. Other ingredients such as grains or breadcrumbs may be included as fillers or extenders.  In the winter he could be a bother back then, but they had not seemed to mind as long as he didn't make a mess.  He was the son of the Earl after all.

When Nesah heard that, she wrinkled her nose in disgust and pushed the plate a little away from herself. She had been certain it smelled funny. Instead, she picked up her tea. "I thought they were just eggs," she said in a wronged tone, reflecting on how much she hated this barbaric country.

He shook his head.  "I can call the waiter back for you to order something else."  He offered, taking a sip of his own tea.

Nesah was reluctant to stay longer and she did not trust the place to be able to prepare something kosher, but she also just wanted to complain about being served the wrong dish, and so she nodded.

Douglas nodded and waved his hand over to the waiter that was helping at another table.  The man came over with a pleasant smile.  "How may I help you?"  He asked looking between the couple.

Nesah turned to the waiter. "I had ordered eggs, sir. Not pig..." she said - because clearly it was all the waiters fault, Nesah was convinced.

Douglas gave the woman a dim glance but said nothing.  If she had not know, it was understanding considering that she was not from the area or even near this culture.  However, how she acted like it was the waiter's fault, that he had an issue with.   He had explained what it was typically made with.  So, obviously from his earlier response, it was known to him and others to have meat.  The waiter would not have known that she was unaware of what the dish was.  He took a sip, listening to see how things went on from there.

The waiter gave a confused expression.  "Did you not ask for the scotch quail's eggs, ma'am." 

Those were the only eggs that had been on the menu, so for her to ask other kinds of eggs would not be mistaken when she asked for the eggs.

"If they are not to your liking, I can change them for something else from the menu."  He continued figuring it had not been cooked enough or perhaps burned in some way.  He had dealt with finicky customers before and the best thing was to find if it could reasonably be fixed.