The chef laughed a bit, then got to work on a salad, marinating a high quality steak with top shelf wine, and generally trying to make the meal worth the hundreds of dollars it cost.  "How old are you?"  Kent asked, passing Nerina a glass of wine that even smelled expensive, while he received a plate of something mysterious, dark, and possibly foul.  "I'm 45 myself."  Kent admitted, sipping from his wine, before turning around and ordering a couple of bottles.  Nobody at the restaurant ever mentioned price, yet he had ordered a 1920s vintage.