Like my friend Rebekah, I do enjoy happening across English errors, whether inadvertent or straightforwardly remedial. I’ll reserve judgment about which category the above (which stopped me in my tracks in Dun Laoghaire) falls into, purely because it’s not clear whether: a) the chalk scriber’s first language is English, b) it’s a subtle comment on management and staff relations, or c) it’s really just some warped Franglais “joke” designed to make us eat.
Which ever, I didn’t go to the café on a matter of principle. Some years ago, a former colleague poked fun at me for not eating in an “Italian” restaurant on Dublin’s quays, because I’d noticed the white board in the window advertised “Spagetti” – it’s much the same thing. Well, frankly, who has eaten “lasange” or “cream of brocilli soup” because the notices on the black or white board actually made them hungry?
I Have Grave News 