Thursday, April 19, 2018

Jeeves and the Golden Arches

Many years ago, I was challenged to write a restaurant review in the style of a famous writer. I think it was for a contest for the San Francisco Examiner, so it would have been 1992 or 1993.

I, of course, chose PG Wodehouse, with whom I am enamored.

I ended up writing this.  Recently found it, and thought I'd resurrect it onto the internet.

Enjoy!   (And if you'd care to take the challenge of writing a restaurant review in the style of a famous writer, I would love to read it!)

Jeeves and the Golden Arches

Nobody is more alive than I am to the possibilities of a well-turned out breakfast. If there is one thing that old Bertram can be counted on for in the clutch, it is the enjoyment of a solid slice of toast with butter, followed by a precisely measured swallow of tea, and then soundly supported by the well fried egg and bacon sandwich. I have always said that if you give a man an egg, he will be confused; give a man a fried egg sandwich, and his mind will remain sparkling clear.

With this thought in mind we entered the Golden Arches. There was something slightly Moroccan about the decor: Bright orange walls, a subtle air of mystery, and chaps in little hats bustling around. Quite exotic, I thought.

"What ho, Jeeves! This place is a bit of a pip. I quite like it here. Rather cheery."

"If I may be so bold, sir, I might suggest that our appetites will be better served at another culinary establishment."

"Oh come now, Jeeves. It's not quite so bad. I overheard old Fosly-Postlewaite talking about it just the other day, and he said he had a Chopped Meat Something or Other that was quite tasty. Rather hit the spot, he said."

"True, sir, but I had occasion to speak with Mr. Fosly-Postlewaite's man-servant, who spoke rather disparagingly of the bacterial content contained within the victuals. It seems that Mr. Fosly-Postlewaite managed to contract a case of what is euphemistically known as The Arch Revenge."

I did not like the man's attitude. I detected a glimmer of disdain in his approach. I decided to put my foot down.

"I rather like it, here, Jeeves, and Revenge or no Revenge, I shall have the Egg Sandwich upon a muffin, with a spot of sausage as well." The ice in my voice was extraordinary. When a Wooster is determined, he can be firm.

"Very good sir" Jeeves went and ordered from the server, a dour-looking matron with a hideous smile on her face. He brought back the food on a plastic tray.

"Breakfast is served."

"There, you see Jeeves. Not so bad, is it? No revenge or other silly nonsense happening. I haven't turned into a werewolf or anything like that."

The man was silent. Positively sullen.

"This seems a perfectly respectable sandwich. And now for the eating. What is it that that poet said? Something about his kingly breaches?"

"I believe that would be Shakespeare's Henry V, "Once more unto the breach my friends."

"Exactly. Couldn't have said it better, myself." I took my first bite. "And furthermore---"

I gagged. The taste of fried rubber was all throughout my lower larynx. With the reflexes that made me the champion gobber at school, I spit out the so-called sandwich.

"Jeeves. Start the car. We must leave this place at once."

"The roadster is already started, sir."

"Jeeves! But how did you know?"

"I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir."

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