"Nu, well! Citrus counts as spicy by thee, ziskayt?" Anzu says; by his tone and his expression, it's clear he's matching Cecil's air—not at all serious, but also, as Anzu sees it, neither disingenuous nor truly frivolous. Some light conversation, a friendly duel of wits, maybe. "I suppose I could imagine it, barbaris is a spice, after all, as are lemon peels—" he cocks his head to one side, taps a finger against the side of his jaw, thinking. "But how novel! A fruit what thickens itself. I assume the texture never gets suspicious gritty?"

As for the matter of peanuts, Anzu holds up a hand, grinning.

"Oh, dearest, I'd never say no to practical demonstrations of wonders, botanical or otherwise— but!" his grin gets wider. "Hold on just a second, sweetness—"

From the far end of the table, he fetches a sheaf of papers, clearly the same as the paper the food labels were written on, and a fountain pen. These he hands to Cecil with a flourish.

"I'd also never say no to new knowledge gained immediately, even if it has to be supplemented later. And thy words intrigue me."