Feeling feisty, and not a little obnoxious, this morning, I responded thusly when asked what I thought should be on the menu for an upcoming retreat at work:
I would like the finest lobster, hand harvested by Poseidon and his entourage of mermaids and cooked to perfection by Maine’s top chefs (flown here for the occasion) with a side of mixed field greens grown in the dirt scraped off of Jerry Garcia by groupies during the time he toured with the Grateful Dead. Belgian chocolates for dessert, delivered on horseback by a Lady Godiva impersonator.
Or a sandwich. Either way.