Imania was impressed. She hadn't expected him to pick up on it at all, let alone immediately. She wasn't sure if this meant he was a connoiseur, or an alcoholic, but... well, if he was the latter, at least he seemed friendly enough.

"Done away with? Hardly," she said, chuckling. "There probably would have been a universal revolt if Starfleet had tried that." She sipped her coffee and smiled gently. "It's called synthehol," she said. "Invented by the Ferengi, it looks and tastes like real alcohol--or so most people pledge, anyway--but the human body can metabolize the enzymes in synthehol without the intoxicating effects of regular alcohol."

She paused a moment, for dramatic effect, and then arched one eyebrow with a thin grin.

"Kind of takes the fun out of it, if you ask me," she said. "Obviously alcohol still exists, but the replicators can't make the real stuff. It's considered a toxic substance, and they won't produce anything known to be harmful to any species on board." She shrugged one shoulder. "Safety regulations, you understand. I'd hate to see a grown man cry, though," she said, "so I'll let you in on a little secret: we have two Ferengi crew members, and they always seem to have some of the real deal in stock somehow." She sipped at her coffee again. "I hope you're a skilled negotiator, though."