Cobb's Bill-of-Fare

A dapper diner, fed up with pretentious banquets and orchestral accompaniment, wanders into an unnamed city eatery determined to find “regular food”—the kind his mother used to serve. The narrative opens with a comic inventory of absurd menu sections—Vittles, Music, Art, Sport—setting a tone that satirizes both the extravagance of high‑society dining and the quirks of early‑20th‑century hospitality. As he places his order, a parade of multilingual staff—Greek omnibus driver, French side‑waiter, Swiss headwaiter—adds a delightful farcical layer to his simple request.

The humor comes from the narrator’s rapid-fire observations, from the absurdity of a nine‑course banquet that tastes the same to the bizarre comparison of wine to wood‑finishing residue. His longing for a quiet, unadorned meal becomes a mirror for the reader’s own nostalgia for honest, home‑cooked fare. The story promises more witty mishaps as the protagonist navigates this culinary circus, keeping the listener amused and craving the next bite of satire.