[First Hank had a panic attack, and now he’s choking on his burger. Went down the wrong way. Hank is spluttering, coughing, until he can finally muster:]

Jesus Christ, no.

[Raising his hand as if to say: hold up, gimme a minute.]

It’s complicated, but it’s not — no. You really think I’d date someone I was here warning you about? Someone who’s probably got a weird altar set up for that piece of your plating, worshipping it like a weirdo?

[And dating Hank — here on Etraya, at that — comes with a whole other slew of issues. Unimportant now, though.]

Haven’t had barbecued pork since... hell, can’t say I even remember. That would be great, Connor — if you’re up for it.