The $40 Salad — Sunday Special

Noir I understand. Vintage I understand. Then there is a third one, sitting at the bottom of the list like an unlabelled switch in an old house, and I pressed it, and my piece about a farmers' market came back reading like a man describing a helicopter crash he is enjoying.

He would not tell me what kind of bees. He would not tell me where. He took my eleven dollars with the air of a man doing me a favour and turned to the next person before I had finished thanking him, which I should not have been doing anyway.