The server had listen to my comment with the disgust of a stewardess being asked when the seat belt sign would be turned off. "I'm used to crepes in Paris with the scrambled eggs." The servant's body stiffened, strained. How many times a question of what is real and what is wished for? His eyes asked, "Is the menu not self explanatory? There is a code, an obligation, a reason we can't scramble eggs in a crepe. We are NOT in Paris." "I know you will say that all of the options are good, but where should I start?" I inquired. "Don't come here if you expect anything more than the smell of warm wheat and a plate of ham and Edam. [he softened briefly] Perhaps some paprika. Don't come here if you expect to be disappointed." [he regained his resolve] "If you see a menu offering a car door, an hour at 1 am and a street sweeper avoiding a Dodge then that is what we are serving." He scolded. [I paused] "Well," as I looked over the board, "can I have an hour and this side of morning and tea with toast and in a chair your hand passing me the jam across the table?"