Last night I went to a nice restaurant for a business dinner. As soon as we sat down, we began looking through our menus. The first thing I noticed was the restaurant menu covers. They were a beautiful brown color, lightly dimpled and branded in black with the name of the restaurant on the front. The edges were gilded and the leather slid against the grease of my hands, accepting my browsing with resignation. These restaurant menu covers, I decided, were the most delicious menu covers I had ever seen, and I knew that the meal would be comparably impressive.
On the inside of the menu covers were sleek sheets of plastic encasing the long cream colored menus, with romantically leaning black font. But what struck me most about these menu covers was their weight – they must have weight about three pounds. I balanced mine against the table, but it could have stood on its own. They were sturdy, solid menu covers that could have rode into battle and decimated any opposition.
My impression regarding the menu covers dictated my need for a meal as, if not more, substantial. When the waiter came around to order, I knew that a steak was the right choice.