Jane and Chai
I have this completely unnecessary headcanon:
Patrick Jane somehow ends up at a South Asian household and casually says, “I’ll make the tea.”
The grieving family ignores him and let him do his thing.
He measures the water. Uses a tea bag and serves proudly.
Silence!!!
From somewhere deep inside the house, a grandma who wasn’t visible five seconds ago materializes like she’s been summoned by the ancestors.
She eye rolls at Jane and make him follow her in the kitchen.
No words exchanged in the kitchen, just a grumpy old lady huffing puffing, while Jane follows her around.
Cardamom? Crushed by hand.
Ginger? smashed by mortar pestle
Tea leaves? Eyeballed.
Milk? “Enough.”
Sugar? “You’ll know.”
Simmer Time. Complete silence!
Jane watches every movement like it’s the greatest cold reading he’s ever witnessed, trying to decode the pattern.
Twenty minutes later he’s convinced that making proper desi chai is the one skill deduction can’t teach, you have to be spiritually adopted by a South Asian grandma.