A small restaurant in an unassuming strip mall along the road, devoid of any paying customers. Loud accordion music is playing over cheap speakers. The door opens …
“Ah, welcome to Prétentieux Bistro Français. You may zeet eenywhere you like! Perhaps monsieur et madame would like theez table, no?”
The table is small, small enough that it might make a single diner uncomfortable with anything other than a single hors-d'œuvre and a small glass of wine.
“That's a bit too small.”
“Le sigh. 'Ow about theez one?”
It's slightly larger. A single diner could eat here. Two, but only if they keep to the hors-d'œuvres.
“I like that one.”
“But of course! Ze best table! Pourquoi pas?”
“I have this coupon for the Faux Prétentieux Bistro Français—”
“That is nous.”
“You changed your name?”
“Our owner, he is, 'ow you zay, ‘capricieux?’”
“Whimsical.”
“Oui. Is that not what I zaid?”
“…”
“Eenyway, 'ere is ze dinnar menu. Theez is our zummer menu, you get an hors-d'œuvres, an entrée, and le dessert.”
The diners are each handed a cheaply laminated sheet of paper, listing a few appetizers, even less entrees, and a “you have to ask us if we have anything made today” dessert menu.
“Okay, I'll take the Soup Du Jour and a salad—”
“Non non non non non! Un hors-d'œuvres!”
“But the coupon I have is for a free salad … ”
“Theez is our zummer menu, you get un hors-d'œuvres, un entrée, and le dessert.”
“But I also want the free salad.”
“**Theez** is our zummer menu, you get **un** hors-d'œuvres, **un** entrée, and **le** dessert.”
“**Salad!**”
“Le sigh. Un instant … ”
The diners are left to ponder the summer menu for a few minutes.
“You can geet the zalad if you order from our other menu, 'ere. As you can zee, we have ze zame trois dinnar special, only more expenzive, as it is ala cart!”
“I see.”
“I come back een a few moments zo you can make your choice.”
“That was interesting.”
“You know, I think I'd rather eat at the Scottish place [1]. Let's go …”
“Sounds good to me.”