Someone clad completely in white -- whose face we can't see because it's obscured by an overhang -- hands over some TV dinners. "Thanks, Chef," Hoshi says pointedly. Ah. So Chef is falling into the category of Home Improvement's next-door neighbor Wilson and Niles's wife Maris. How original. And by "original," I mean "done to death with a repetitive shtick five times over." I know nelamm told me naval chefs do wear all white -- instead of the usual whites and checks -- but I'm still going to point out that Wolfgang Puck did a Thanksgiving show on a carrier docked in New York's harbor, and their executive chef wore a white jacket and checks. In this light, Chef looks like a Good Humor Man from the 1950s. Those white shoes aren't doing him any favors either. "Ach! Come on, pot roast? That's the third time in three days!" Reed whines, and then gasps because he burns his hands on his tray. Hee. Also, shut up, Malcolm. May-Back-Me-On-This-One asks what movie is being shown that night. "Something exclusively Paramount, I'd guess," Mathra comments. "The Day the Earth Stood Still," Trip tells him. ["Close. 20th Century Fox." -- Sars] Hoshi rolls her eyes while Reed stuffs the complaint box some more. "We're having movie night in here?" he whinges. Trip starts to patiently explains the area they set up to allow movies on a small screen, but Hoshi interrupts him to ask who the hell is picking these movies and shouldn't they all get a vote. I don't think the ship is necessarily a democracy -- more of a benevolent furrowership. Trip pinches the bridge of his nose as though he's got a headache, and May-Backdraft senses that something is burning. Trip looks around and realizes there's smoke coming from the aliens' tent. Apparently, they decided to make their own grub, since they can't "digest" the human food. Is that why all the storage lockers are backed up? I can't help it -- they just hand me the bathroom humor on a platter! Their stuff is simmering on a hot plate. Hee -- aliens have hot plates. I wonder if they have crockpots too. Trip gets all mad, yelling that they're "sittin' on top uv a plasma manifold." I guess that's not as good as the dock of the bay, or the top of the world looking down on creation. The ship shakes and bakes, and Quantum calls Trip to the Desert Storm Bridge. Trip leaves, assuring the aliens that he'll talk to Chef, and thrusts the hot plate of alien hash at a grimacing Reed.