They're not self-sustaining; they should have planned to be, but it's not as if they were able to do recon before coming to Pegasus.  And they don't do so badly.  A little information on agricultural technology, a handful of inoculations there.  Her hours worrying over their economic state (read: their likelihood of not starving from one month to the next) are balanced with moments like this.

"Hellooooo glorious goddess of Atlantis!"

"Major."

"We brought you a pineapple!  And chicken!"

"So I see."

"There was a party."

"I can see that."

"It's prolly still going on, if you want to go."

"That's okay."

"They like us.  They like our agriculture things.  They said to come back."

"I'll keep that in mind."  Pause.  "How much did you have to drink?"

And Rodney says, "It's not the alcohol so much, Elizabeth, as the.  Um.  Narcotics."  Very serious head-nod.  She has the feeling that Rodney's an I'm-not-drunk drunk.  "We are very, very stoned.

"Very."

She's not going to laugh at him.  He's so dignified.  And the chicken -- one of the chickens, which are probably not really chickens, but they look sweet and sort of edible -- doesn't look too worried about the way he's carrying it.  One wing's hanging out, and there's a foot dangling, but she suspects that the chicken might be almost as stoned as they are.

It takes her a week to eat the sandwich that proves her right.  The chicken was not only stoned, but also capable of storing cheerfully mind-altering substances in its little, highly edible cells.  Delicious chopped into a salad with some pineapple.

Elizabeth giggles to herself all afternoon.