Pretension

They’re just too precious, these foods that demand an accent or some obscure letter. Why say “hors d'œuvres” and “pâté” when “cheese and crackers” and “mystery meat” get the message across perfectly? (And don’t get all hoity-toity over pâté. Think about cat food next time you slather foie gras on a Ritz.)
     It’s all über-pretentious, yet it’s de rigœur to nibble crudités at cocktail parties and prattle on derisively about middle class tastes. I want none of empty pretension or dainty finger food. Give me a hearty smörgåsbord any day, with a frosty Maßkrüge of Hasseröder to wash it down.