“And what of the specials?”
“I’m very keen on the brawn, sir.”
“Potted face, sir. Often pig’s. Set in a light juniper jelly, served with samphire and frissons verts.” The waiter idly itched his cheek with the length of his middle finger.
“I’ll go for that then.”
“Very well, sir.”
He returned soon after, though I was engrossed in conversation with the woman at the table beside me. The meat was succulent – smelling slightly of catfood, yet sharp and spicy to taste and luxurious in texture.
It was only afterwards that I noticed the waiter now wore a cowl.