Nancy had never had the chance to stand in someone’s kitchen in a foreign country. She wondered where the family who owned this house would find the forks in their French villa. The silverware drawer seemed to imply a kind of cultural history. With dinner forks resting next to salad forks and, given the absence of a plate between, spoons of two sizes next to those, with butter knives completing the line. Steak knives were kept in an entirely separate drawer, as the keep them away from small children who might be asked by their otherwise occupied mother to please set the table, and yes we do indeed need both kinds of forks, a knife but only the small spoons tonight. Chopsticks rested in a kind of miscellaneous bin above the more standard utensils, thrown in such a way that it became difficult to find a matching pair. On the night when the family ordered out for Chinese, they did not use the cheap one-use wooden chopsticks, they used their beautiful lacquered ones but they often ended up with mismatched pairs, a solid eggshell-blue stick paired with one that was primarily finished wood but had a band of blue flowers on the top quarter of the stick.
 The larger of which was labeled as a soup spoon but the smaller, she could not remember what the official purpose was. Perhaps they were both soup spoons and it came down to a matter of preference but this seemed not correct. A few minutes later she remember they were tea spoons and momentarily felt incredibly stupid.
 Though these were kept for a later date, placed in lunch bags when the children and parents brought their own meals to work and school.