A rumbled laugh as he gave a sideways glance to her, only halfway supervising her actions of depositing the greens into the pot.

"They may smell like that now, but you just wait."

A swift step to the side, and he opened the door to the oven. A quick reach in with his hand protected by a dishrag, and Krale pulled out a cast beskar pan full of sizzling squares of shaak fat. They were like angry, spitting cube-demons swimming in equally angry spitting-juices. A leg immediately closed the oven door, and he set the pan on the countertop. A gesture to a drawer, and he further instructed his newfound sous chef.

"Go in that drawer there, and pull out a serving spoon. When you've got all the loccards into the pot, put in the salt-shaak."