Waiter: Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?
Critic: I'm... Mr Smith.
Waiter: Of course, Mr Smith. The table by the kitchen, as usual.
Critic: As usual? I've never been here.
Waiter: That is what Mr Smith usually says.
Critic: What do you recommend?
Waiter: The soup is excellent. The lasagne is less excellent, although my mother insists that it is a "deconstructed lasagne".
Critic: Deconstructed? I look forward to it.
Waiter: It was, until she dropped it. Would you like the soup?
Critic: Yes. And... is the chef French?
Waiter: She is from Leeds. But she says "bonjour" to the oven.
Critic: Wonderful. Please bring the bill early. I... may have a train to catch.
Waiter: We never charge the Evening Post's critics, Mr Gray. We simply hope for kindness.
Critic: How do you know who I am?
Waiter: The sunglasses. It's November. And the notebook is labelled "Restaurant Reviews".
Critic: Ah.
Waiter: The soup, then?
Fiction note: All people, places and events in this dialogue are fictional.