You have no idea, he somehow resists replying to the compliment about his knife prowess.

His face does not even remotely soften as Aerith poses to try and get the idea across. Just silently chews and glares at her with discerning eyes, like he's trying to commit the visual to memory. When he shoves the last crust of the pie in his mouth, still chewing, he grasps the left branch in question and decisively cuts it off. A few more on the sides, then...

"There." He doesn't speak until he's swallowed. Decent table manners, at least. "Done."