The aroma of grilled meat filled the air as Clara eagerly bit into her kebab. I watched her childish enthusiasm with mild amusement, a stark contrast to the sophisticated dinners I usually shared with Isabelle.
"This is the best part," Clara declared, mouth half-full. "The sauce they use is totally secret. Mom tried to get the recipe for years."
I nodded politely, picking at my own food. The kebab stand was busier than I'd expected for this remote location. Most patrons kept to themselves, focusing on their meals or conversations.
"You're not eating," Clara pointed out, already halfway through her second skewer. "Don't you like it?"
"It's fine," I replied, taking a bite to appease her. The meat was tender and flavorful, I had to admit.
Clara beamed. "See? I told you!" She reached for the small bowl of soup that accompanied our meal. "And this broth is amazing too."
