There’s a twinkle in his seventy-year-old eyes. He’s madly chopping garlic on a large wooden countertop in the Rec Centre kitchen. He purposely turns his back to me whenever I walk past him.
As I peer over his shoulder my suspicions are confirmed.
“Horst,” I say, “what dish are you in charge of cooking today?”
He is one of the fifteen senior men participating in a monthly luncheon class.