‘But you’re okay here?’

She smiled. ‘Yeah, fine.’ Then she sighed again, caught herself and laughed. ‘It’s all good. I’m a bit tired, that’s all – too many night shifts and stressed customers.’

I stayed for dinner, relishing the novelty of being cooked for. I noticed that Thora was very organised in the kitchen: she measured out all her ingredients using properly marked cups and spoons. Nothing, it seemed, was left to chance. The oven timer was set to roast the chicken, and its flesh was prodded with a thermometer to ensure it was cooked to perfection. Rice was measured and rinsed before being cooked by the absorption method. Aioli was made from scratch, a clove of garlic crushed with a pestle and mortar, the egg yolk and mustard whisked together before Thora began the long, slow process of drizzling in the oil. I could see the look of concentration on her face as she whisked and her satisfaction when the mixture thickened and she added lemon juice and garlic. She caught me looking at her and joked that she’d got lucky, that nine times out of ten the mixture split, but I didn’t believe her. The only time she lost her place was when the asparagus went from bright green and crunchy to yellow-green and limp within a matter of seconds. A look of disbelief crossed her face: ‘That wasn’t meant to happen.’ I had to reassure her that I preferred it like that, that it was how my grandmother and mother cooked it when I was a child.

As we ate I told her about Taylor’s notebook and the emotions I’d felt when faced with the opportunity to see the recipe for the grand Māori perfume. ‘I was really thrown by the experience,’ I said. ‘The funny thing is that part of me still believes that plants are just plants. They’ve been around longer than humans so they should be valued for what they are, free from classification.’

‘But?’

‘But once you know the cultural significance you can’t go on pretending they’re just plants. And using ingredients from those plants is an act of cultural appropriation.’

‘Has that ever stopped you from using ingredients like benzoin or frankincense in the past?’ Thora asked. ‘Don’t most plants have cultural significance, no matter how far removed that culture is from your own? Just because the plants grow on the other side of the world, and their production is out of sight …’

‘I guess I’m a hypocrite.’

‘You could always stop wearing perfume.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘I could. Or I could try and learn about both the plants and the culture.’

‘Or you could give it five years, by which time the overseas perfume houses will catch on and start making the grand Māori perfume. Then you can go out and buy a bottle from The Corner Dairy.’

‘Aw, don’t say that.’

‘It’s only a matter of time.’