War-time, Rationing, Blackout.
After much drink while on leave in London, two Naval Officers needing some solid sustenance find themselves in a cheap restaurant. One of them winks at his pal, points to the ill-typed menu and says to the waitress:
“I don’t know about my friend here, but I’ll have an order of these Pissoles”.
His companion interjects: “No, No, Rodney, I think you’ll find that’s an ‘R’.”
“In that case, I’ll have an order of Arsoles, miss”
It was a strange and memorable experience to be laughing like a drain while simultaneously picking my jaw off the pink table-cloth. The Da spent the next thirty years denying that anything remotely like that had ever happened. Could well have been more than two glasses of chianti then; although I remember him finding the car and driving us away somewhere else after lunch - but you could do that in those distant days.