[Eridanus eyes the folded note, and whatever defensive hostility he had been holding onto fades away. His shoulders relax, and he takes another sip of his brandy before running his thumb over the rim. His free hand takes the note, pressing the opalite pads of his fore and middle fingers against the paper and sliding it towards himself. As he unfolds it, his head tilts back to get a better look at the scrawl through his glasses.]

Not the type to cook, or not the type to enjoy a stew? [He asks, and there's a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

His eyes follow the bartender as the drink is poured, his attention momentarily drawn to what Slade had ordered. He'd never heard of either of the drinks the man asked after, and he considers himself a connoisseur.]

And how did you come to work for this "guy". You seem to be guarding his identity, but I assure you, I'm really only interested in the food. It would be nice to meet someone who's got the recipes already written down—rather than buying a meal off of him, perhaps he can teach me the skills himself.