Word: slaw
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...about the program that I want to write you: the Beethoven Fourth, Berlioz' "Royal Runt and Storm," and the Brahms First. Mr. Munch, this choice is surely a failure either of nerve or of imagination. Indeed, the guests have been fed beef and potatoes with a touch of cola slaw on the side. For this nourishing fare we must be grateful. Yet surely one can design a more stimulating musical diet: something earlier than Beethoven, something later than Brahms. Perhaps you are as weary of playing items of standard repertory as I am of hearing them at so many concerts...
...well-stirred ragout of one part Henry Morgan, three parts Arthur Godfrey and a dash of Colonel Stoopnagle; it is a blend of the outrageously unexpected and the shaggy dog joke. In the middle of a recording, a voice may suddenly announce: "I've got cole slaw in all my pockets. I'm cold." Sometimes Hawthorne heckles his lovesick records. "What are you in the mood for, honey?" he will ask during the opening bars of a song. "I'm in the mood for love," the record croons back...
...before eight the O.G. wears tablecloths and sports menus and silverware. Lunch and dinner are on the card, as well as a collegiate sandwich assortment, named after Radcliffe, M.I.T. and other nearby schools. Although the tagging is arbitrary, it may not seem so to M.I.T. students who dislike cole slaw, for cole slaw bulks large in the Tech sandwich. It sells well, nevertheless, and all together the O.G. dispenses more food than drink and considers itself more a dining room than an ivy-covered beer hall. But to the sentimental or the thirsty, the O.G. still stands for the best...
...That's nothing," said Mr. Heaman's secretary. "At Swarthmore I remember finding a lizard in my cole slaw. Perhaps you'd better show it to Mr. Durant, the University business manager...
...Bronx, ex-Pfc. Peter Boucouvales, paralyzed from the waist down by the bullet which had lodged in his neck, lay between clean sheets in the Veterans Administration Hospital. The corridors were cheerless, the windows dirty. His lunch of filet of sole, peas, rice, cole slaw and lemon pie was cold by the time it got to him, but filling nevertheless. Lying in bed, naked to the waist, Boucouvales gazed down at his full stomach. His belly was getting so big, he told the nurses, he ought to be switched to the maternity ward...