Chuck had heard rumors about Blair's rather complex relationship to food, but he took the chance and decided that, after the day they'd had, they could both use a little comfort food. The corners of his mouth twitched upward just a little when Blair met his choices with approval, and he nodded as he accepted his plate and took the first heaping forkful into his mouth.
"There is very little in this world that can't be improved by truffles," he intoned wisely. "And good scotch." Chuck raised a glass to his lips to punctuate this statement and, looking over his glass, he added, "And if you make a quip about how it smells like Band-Aids I swear Waldorf I will send you to bed without supper."
Setting down his glass, he couldn't help but be ever so slightly flattered by her praise. Not that he didn't deserve it. He did. Still, he recognized that Blair Waldorf was not one to bestow accolades lightly, so her words carried an appropriate amount of impact. Of course, he couldn't actually allow her to think that, so he just inclined his head slightly and drawled, "One can accomplish much when one knows how to live properly." Huh. Apparently all this alcohol was making him start to sound like a monk, dispensing nuggets of vague wisdom.