William stood behind the bar, pulling beers and pouring drinks for the smattering of customers. Henry sat at his usual table, amusing himself with a book of anagrams. At his invitation, I took a seat across from him. I looked over as Rosie emerged from the kitchen with an armload of what appeared to be slim binders. She crossed the room, heading in our direction, clearly pleased with herself. She handed a binder to me and a second to Henry. I thought they might be picture albums, but I opened the front cover and found myself staring at a handwritten menu done in a calligraphic script. "This is different," I remarked.

"Is new menu. So I don't hef to tell every dish what I'm cooking. William wrote by hand and then went to photo copy shop and hed them print. You order anything you want and what you can't say in Henglish you point." She stood and looked at us expectantly. Since she'd returned from the cruise, her Henglish seemed to have gotten worse.

Henry surveyed his menu, a curious expression crossing his face. I glanced at mine, running my gaze down the page. The dishes were listed first in Hungarian, complete with letter combinations and accent marks I'd never seen before. Under the Hungarian name for each dish there was the translation in English:

Versenyi Batyus Ponty

Carp in a Bundle

Csuka Tejfeles Tormaval

Pike Cooked in Horseradish Cream

Hamis Oztokany

Mock Venison

Disznó Csülök Kaposztál

Pigs Knuckles and Sauerkraut

I couldn't wait to see what the crowd of softball rowdies was going to think about this.

"You've outdone yourself, Rosie," Henry said.

"Really," I said. "I can hardly choose."

She seemed to wiggle with pleasure, order pad in hand. For a minute I thought she intended to lick her pencil point.

Henry smiled at her blandly. "Why don't you give us a few minutes? This is a lot to take in."

"You keep and I come beck."

"Good idea."

She moved away from our table and began to circle the room, distributing a menu at each booth and table along the way. Henry stared after her with something close to wonderment. "I guess this is what happens when you take someone on a cruise. She's come home inspired. If I didn't know her better, I'd say she was putting on airs."

I set my menu aside. "That's the least of our worries. What are we going to do? I don't want to eat a pig knuckle with sauerkraut. That's disgusting."

He looked at his menu again. "Listen to this one. 'Mazsolas es Gesztenyés Borjunyelv.' You know what that is? Cows Tongue with Chestnuts and Raisins."

"Oh, that can't be true. Where do you see that?" I peered over at his menu, hoping it was somehow completely different.

He pointed at an item under a column entitled "Specialities of the House."