“But Americans don’t really eat porridge, do we?” I queried. “I mean, I’m sure we eat something like it. I don’t know, oatmeal or Cream of Wheat.”
It was an odd recommendation, and it wasn’t the first. The day before, Bob had suggested that we pay a visit to the cobbler to mend his shoes.
I was losing him. Before my very eyes, Bob was becoming an 18th century English peasant.