Connor...

[Eyes thinned.

Hank sighs.]

I can’t stop you. Not like you couldn’t squirrel some away behind my back. But I’d really rather you didn’t.

You don’t even drink thirium. You — [okay, no, he should not be giving Connor any ideas] — if you gotta try it, promise me you won’t be alone. I don’t want you breaking down ‘cause you’re guzzling this shit.

But you are more than welcome to cook to your heart’s content, Connor. And more stuff like it.

[A thoughtful pause, then:]

What is it about cooking that you like, exactly?