[He looks over the menu with genuine dismay.] ...they ALL have vodka. All of them. Tabernak.

[Yeah, Sam gets The Eyebrow.]

Ohhhh, non. You picked it, mister, we're having at least one drink here. If I must suffer, so must you.

[Beer, at least, is safe enough. It may not be spectacular, but at least the only choice isn't Molson. Once he's picked something that appears inoffensive and gotten Sam's order, he strides to the bar and orders. He returns, looking entirely out of place in his nice suit.]

So. You were telling me your deep mental traumas. Or your turn ons. Whichever.