CALLED TO THE TABLE

Dahling, a restaurant that forgets its lineage is merely a kitchen with delusions of grandeur, and I refuse to dine at one twice. This adhesive settles the matter before the first course arrives: the continent, seated at the head of the table, unbothered by whatever fusion nonsense the menu insists upon.

Affix it by the host stand where every guest must pass.

What ships is high-resolution, plated properly; what you're viewing now has been blurred deliberately, because I execrate a thief nearly as much as I execrate an undercooked entrée.

— P.S.C.