The names of cakes were difficult outside one's accustomed climes. Thus the emergence of what might be called an unorganized franchise, something quite unlike a Pizza Hut in Schwabing, rather a commonality-- the dialect Yuppie: cappucino and croissant viable on every continent-- was a welcome thing.
The most fervent wishes of L'Academie Francaise come true dans la vie de la menu, thought the stranger.
He knew no Danish. Tried English, the true langue yuppische, ordering a sweet bun with fruit jam. A Danish elsewhere.
"What do you call Canadian bacon?" he once asked a waitress in Toronto.
She professed confusion. "I mean the round, lean meat," he said.
"Bacon," she said.
"I know," he said, smiling faintly, "but what do you call what we call Canadian bacon?"
"The Idea of North" was the title of one of Glenn Gould's sound collages for CBC, quite hypertextual before their time.
Each of the rows in the garden turned slowly toward another as I planted it, until they looped like worms, all rhythm and curve under your crazy blue eye.