For a moment Han ponders where they can eat. Objectively speaking, the falcon's design is one of purpose and it's not like it's a cruise vessel. You can adapt and get by, but it not very suited to something like this, entertaining someone that is.

Then he has the idea that if he finds three crates of the right height, they can fashion a table and chair set up out of those without messing up his arrangement of firearms. So, that's what he sets out to do while Ver gets the food. Even when he's not hauling anything, one of the things they don't usually lack for around here are crates.

As Verity herself must have noticed, while observing and asking questions that occured to her, comparing their two universes is like like looking through an unrefined Felucian crystal; most of what you're seeing remains recognizable in some form, as you look beyond the twisted hairline fractures, though dirt and impurity makes some of it impossible to recognize.

Generally speaking, that's how Han feels about the food here. Most of it is recognizable to him in some degree. The names of things, though, what they might call them in her galaxy is unfamiliar to him. As such, most of her menu goes right over his head, except ale. He's familiar with the word 'ale' quite well.

"It sounds like a lot." He says, partly because it does (expecially to a guy who generally eats cold food from a container) and partly because he doesn't have a lot of understanding of what all that is until he sees it.

"I appreciate you going to the trouble for it."