The major-domo came up with a cheerful smile as Cal sauntered into the chromium-and-crimson establishment. "At your service," greeted the major-domo.
"I'm meeting a friend."
"A table will be reserved. Meanwhile, will you avail yourself of our service in the bar?"
Cal nodded and entered the bar. He climbed up on a tall bar stool and took cigarettes from his pocket. The bartender came over immediately. "Your service?"
"Palan and ginger," said Cal. He was still working on the dregs of his first glass when Tinker came up behind him and seated herself on the stool beside.
"Hi, Tink," he smiled.
"Hello. What are you drinking?"
"Palan and ginger."
"Me too," she said to the bartender. "Cal, you are a queer duck. Your favorite liquors come from Venus and Mars. You seem to thrive on those foul-tasting lichens from Titan as appetizers. You gorge yourself on Callistan loganberry, and your most-ordered dinner is knolla. Yet you hate space travel."
"Sure," he grinned. "I know it. After all, there's nothing that says that I have to go and get it. Four hundred years ago, Tink, there were people who ate all manner of foods that they never saw in the growing stage. And a lot of people lived and died without ever seeing certain of their meat animals."