[WP] Johnatan Swift's satire A Modest Proposal about eating poor children is taken seriously, and widely accepted as a very good idea by the ruling class of Britain.

Lord Pembrook fretted in front of the china cupboard. Today was his first meeting with the Count of Glastonbury, and everything must go perfectly if the agreement is going to be secured. The Count was a known stickler for detail, and if Pembrook couldn't even pull off a successful dinner party, then why would the Count think he could effectively run a shipping company?

Pembrook settled on the floral patterned china. Safe and conservative. He gestured to his waiting manservant, James, who promptly summoned the servants to set the table. Pembrook and James retired to his quarters to dress for the evening. They inspected his suit, newly tailored and pressed perfectly. Together, they chose the perfect pocket square, matching to the intricate details of his formal cravat.

Just as James was adjusting Pembrook's cuff links, a runner from the gate announced that the Count's carriage had arrived. Pembrook fiddled with his cravat one last time in front of the mirror, then headed down to the entryway to greet his guest.

James opened the broad oak door of the manor, and the Count strode purposefully over the threshold. He was not a man that waited for an invitation to enter. His sharp eyes took in the room quickly, inspecting for dust and dirt. He shed his coat in one fluid motion and dropped it behind him, not even looking behind him to confirm that a servant was there to take it. Luckily, James was top-notch, and had it on the coat rack before it could even touch the ground. The Count's wife, Lady Sarah, followed behind him, demure and delicate.

"My lord," Pembrook said dramatically. "Welcome to Pembrook Manor. I am so honored to finally make your acquaintance." The Count studied him for a moment, and gave a slight sniff of approval, then shook Pembrook's hand.

"Thank you, Pembrook. I appreciate the invitation. Lovely home you have here."

After dispensing with the niceties, Pembrook led the guests to the dining room. His chef had prepared an elaborate meal for the couple, with cuisine from all over the world, to highlight the vast reach of his shipping company.

"My lords," the head waiter announced, "I welcome you to our culinary safari. Today, we will be tasting dishes from around the world, bringing the finest and freshest ingredients that Pembrook Consolidated Shipping has to offer. Your first course is served: free-range Mongolian horseman tar tar, served with a balsamic lime vinegarette and chives on a freshly baked, sliced brioche"

The Count dipped his fork into the dish, lifting a small, quivering mass of meat and arranged it on the thin slice of bread. He chewed, eyes on the ceiling as though he wanted no distractions. He smiled slightly and nodded in approval; his wife had been waiting for his verdict before eating. Pembrook's heart pounded as he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Second course, a spiced curry and Polynesian Islander soup from the Far East, seasoned with coconut milk and curry powder."

The count raised his spoon to his lips, taking a small taste. His head tilted briefly to the side, intrigued by the odd combination of flavors. Pembrook waited on the edge of his chair as the count paused, then took another taste. Another success!

"Your third course, my lords: a mildly battered filet of native fishermen from the Maldives, aged and weathered."

The Count looked at Pembrook and gave a nod, as if impressed by the selection. Pembrook was thrilled; the evening was going so well!

The waiter cleared the plates from the fish course, bringing by the palate cleansing Russian farmer.

"I must say, Pembrook" the count said between bites, "I may have underestimated you. I thought your company was a mere Channel crosser, but you truly do seem to have a global reach. If the rest of the meal is as good as the other dishes, I do say that you might be the man to supply my Australian holdings."

As if that were their cue, the waiters bustled in with the main course:

"Organic Native American, my lords. Your steaks come from the wives of the greatest hunters of the Haudenosaunee Indians. The meat is marbled perfectly, tender and flavorful. These tribes live primarily off of natural nuts and fruits, giving the meat a delicious gamey taste. It is served on a bed of natural greens from the Great Lakes region, where these tribes originate, and accompanied by roasted root vegetables."

The Count sliced off a narrow sliver of meat and chewed slowly, carefully. He stopped, with a thoughtful expression. He chewed again. Pembrook was sweating so much he worried he might need a bucket.

"Acceptable," the Count decreed and took another bite. "Perfectly acceptable." Pembrook breathed an audible sigh of relief as the Count and Countess devoured the main course.

"Well, Pembrook," the Count said after dinner, "that was the most satisfying meal I've had in ages. And certainly the most adventurous. You've outdone yourself." He extended a hand. "If you can provision my mines in Australia as well as you've supplied your own table, then the contract is yours." Pembrook shook his hand with a grin, silently thanking the Irish for the spice-absorbing qualities of their meat.