"But Moony," Sirius whined, "the American place is really good! It's my favorite."
"I never said it wasn't good," Remus said patiently. "I just said we should bring something else for the meeting. How about fish and chips? Everybody likes that. Or Chinese?"
Sirius pouted, which looked a bit ridiculous on a man in his late thirties. "I want the American place," he said.
"Burgers, then?" Remus offered. "Or pizza? Which I guess is sort of Italian, but the Americans have more or less taken it over..." He was beginning to ramble, with something of a desperate edge to his voice.
"This American place, the one I like, not any old American food," Sirius insisted flatly.
"Really, I'm much more in the mood for something like curry," Remus suggested.
Sirius glared. "You hate the American place, don't you? You only go there because I like it," he snapped. His chin came up and he looked down his nose with that haughty Black stare. "You needn't humour me, Remus; I'm not a child."
"No, that's not it, I like it too," Remus assured him hastily. "It's just..."
Sirius cocked an eyebrow as Remus hesitated. "Just what?" he prompted.
"Well, just that for an Order meeting..." He trailed off, sighed, then tried again. "Look, what is it that everybody calls it, except when Albus or Fawkes is around?"
Sirius' haughty look melted into a grin as he answered brightly, "Order of the Flaming-" He broke off, blinking. "Oh!"
"Yeah, oh," said Remus, with a wry little smirk. "Now do you see why I think, just maybe, when the Order sends us for take-out, it's not especially a good idea to come back with barbecued chicken?"