For David

I go to Sarotti and decide to have a baked potato. Which comes, this being Berlin, in foil moulded in the shape of a swan.

Time passes.

The waiter comes, asks if he can remove the remains.  I assent.  He asks if it was good (Hat es geschmeckt?).  I say it was great.  I say: Wann kommt der nächster Schwann?

[Wagnerians will understand.  2C2E.]

Time passes.

The waiter heads outside bearing a baked potato on a plate, remarks in passing that here comes the next swan.