"He may not like mead, but he does like other things, like insulting his host at breakfast," Aziraphale replied. "And like touching things he oughtn't. He's a stand-up fellow, a quality specimin of whatever he is."

Aziraphale didn't comment on Gabriel's musing, because he had only been to America a handful of times and didn't find it as distasteful as he felt he ought to have. That could remain a secret.

When the waiter asked him if he wanted anything to eat, he smiled up at him and shook his head. "No thank you, dear." He looked at his unlikely companions. "Does anyone want anything to eat?"