Hawkeye hasn't spat it out in disgust or made faces yet, so he's assuming the food is a success. He scoops up some while Hawkeye chews; not better than Darcy's, but damn good if he does say so himself. There's pride in that. He hopes he's at least a little impressed.

Phil hums. "Then you can test your mettle, hotshot. I've had a lot of practice. But here, c'mon. Let's have dinner first."

He reaches for his own glass, lifting it. "Shall we drink to something?"