"There's a lot of things going on all at once," Crowley says, around the mouthful of food. "Milder than I expected."

But then again, all sorts of eras and places have all sorts of palates. He's tried the very bland and the very spicy and it's all never really mattered unless he was in the right company. Well, one very specific company. He picks up the piece of wasabi. "Do I just eat this?"

Someone enters the shop, and Crowley turns his head to look at the door. Just a tall, unassuming American tourist. Or is it? It could be anyone.