A roasting dish? He assumed he did, and went to the bottom of the oven where things like that were stored and managed to find what she was looking for. Then he got to work preparing the carrots and onion. He took a large serrated knife and began chopping the carrots into hockey puck like discs and put them in the bottom of the pan. His hands held true for now, though it was on the back of his mind how much longer they would stay that way. Chopping onions was far and wide not his forte. He butchered it in the beginning, peeling off a good three or four layers just to get the peel off. Then he went to work dicing it up into small bits, which was the only way he preferred his onions to be. Of course along the way he had ignored the little comment Eliza had made about flirting with her, Mark had no intentions of flirting with her, not yet at least. He was too focused on the major changes she was trying to implement in his life in a short span of time. It was clear she was a control freak, things had to be her way or the highway. That was not how Mark liked to do things, especially when it affected his life, so in the short term he was trying to survive and try to resist the urge to kill this nosy journalist and dump her body over the side of his boat.<br/><br/>Of course that would come with its own set of problems, and would become more trouble than he viewed her as right now anyways. Of course when she mentioned the fancy potato name Mark's face scrunched up as if he had never heard the word she said a day in his life. It was true, and he had no idea what she was talking about. "Duh, what the fuck kind of potatoes are you talking about?" He asked her, not trying to sound too rude, but clearly conveying that he had never heard of them before. When it was all said and done though Mark examined himself and noticed that he had made quite a mess of himself. Not that he was surprised, preparing meals like this was not common, usually something came out of a box unless it was meat. "I eat wherever, though it is going to be a bit chilly tonight so inside might be best, and you can keep that fruity crap to yourself." He was in no mood for wine, alcohol or not, he preferred beer and hard alcohol, though he quickly learned he could drink more beer so he stuck to that most often.<br/><br/>She had asked a question about plans for the next day and it took almost all of Mark's energy not to laugh at Eliza when she asked it. "What do I want to do? Well normally I would like to have my morning beer on the deck, followed by my mid morning beer on the deck, then brunch with another beer, then a celebratory beer for actually eating food, followed by another beer on the deck which I generally milk out to dinner time, then I like to knock back a couple more beers with a steak and mashed taters out of a box, then for dessert guess what?" He smiled slyly, "more fucking beer. Like Jesus lady, ask a drunk what the fuck he wants to do, here is a giant ass hint, it involved alcohol in mass quantities. Since I don't think you is gonna let me get away with that then I ain't got a fucking clue." His tone was more or less sarcastic, not the overbearing rudeness that it was before when they first met up, but his sarcasm could be conveyed for meanness from the right or wrong person. He really didn't have any plans or anything he wanted to do outside of his routine, that just wasn't Mark's style lately.