Europe Revised by Irvin S. Cobb

It was at a small dinner party in a home out in Passy -- which is to Paris what Flatbush is to Brooklyn -- that the event hereinafter set forth came to pass. Our host was an American who had lived abroad a good many years; and his wife, our hostess, was a French woman as charming as she was pretty and as pretty as she could be.

The dinner was going along famously. We had hors-d'oeuvres, the soup and the hare -- all very tasty to look on and very soothing to the palate. Then came the fowl, roasted, of course -- the roast fowl is the national bird of France -- and along with the fowl something exceedingly appetizing in the way of hearts of lettuce garnished with breasts of hothouse tomatoes cut on the bias.