“Hi, I’m Jessica and I’ll be your server for to-night. Are you ready to order?” I asked the couple. “Or do you need a few more minutes to look at the menu?”

The man said, “Sure, we—”

The woman said, “Actually, I had a question about one of the menu items. This one,” she pointed near the bottom of the menu, “it just says the shit, what is it?”

I smiled. “Ah yes, the shit. Fresh shit from the coast, and we at Tony’s garnish it with hickory seasoning and a lemon-garlic drizzle. Have you ever had shit before?”

“No, can’t say I have. Is it—”

“It’s a rather aromatic dish centred around an animal byproduct. Savoury and filling, with notes of bitter. Mixed with nuts and occasionally corn. Our patrons like to—”

The man said, “It’s faeces, then, is what you’re saying.”

“Yes.”

“That’s disgusting,” he said.

“It’s not for everyone, that’s true. Some dishes in our cuisine are, shall we say, an acquired taste.”

“What kind of shit is it?” asked the woman.

“Our shit is sourced ethically from local farms along the peninsula. Generally bull, but if you’d like to substitute goat or pig just let me know. The chef can also produce—”

“Brenda,” the man said to the woman, “weren’t you set on the spinach risotto?”

“I’m actually kind of curious now,” she said.