The talk of art had left the table glowing, like a room that had been dimly lit suddenly flooded with candlelight. The heavy topics of morality and ambition felt far away now, softened by laughter and half-playful jabs. For once, the Sterling dinner no longer felt like an interrogation but an exchange, alive, flowing, unpredictable.
Uncle Charles, clearly pleased to nudge things along, twirled his fork and said, "Well, if art is civilization's diary, then food is its heartbeat. Don't you agree, Rex?"
The pivot was deliberate, and Rex caught it instantly. He smiled. "Food is culture you can taste. You can fake words, even paintings sometimes. But you can't fake cuisine, it always tells the truth about a people."
"Ha!" Aunt Miriam clapped lightly, delighted. "Finally, something I can agree on without a debate."
One of the cousins leaned in, mischievous. "Alright then, Rex, give us your verdict. French cuisine, Italian cuisine, or the new obsession with fusion plates?"
