I stole the idea for this from the indefatigable John Latta and offer my own version of it here because I thought his set-up was too offhand.
A traveler who prides himself on making “local discoveries” is touring Australia and happens to stop for breakfast in a dusty Queensland backwater by the name of Murcie. The café is small but crowded—a good omen, he tells himself—so he takes a stool at the long zinc counter and begins to study the menu mounted high on the wall. One item appears in bright red letters: “KOALA TEA—Specialty of the House.” The name piques his sense of adventure, and he orders a cup of the stuff from a lanky waiter, who in short order sets it before him.
A glance into the oversized mug gives the man a shock. Floating in the brownish liquid are clots of pinkish meat and hanks of short, coarse hair in which thin splinters of bone are tangled.
“My God, man!” he says to the waiter. “What’s this?”
The waiter smiles slyly. “Your tea, mate.”
“You mean,” says the traveler, “it’s made from an actual koala?”
The waiter nods. “Specialty of the house—or the town, you could say. The best of this tea in Queensland comes from Murcie.”
The traveler peers into the mug again. “You couldn’t strain out the bits of koala?”
“Crikey,” the waiter exclaims. “Don’t you know the koala tea of Murcie is not strained?”
Like John, I’m here all week….