From the menu at Yama, where I'd never wanted to wait. Tonight I arrived during a 10-minute lull and actually entered--and then ate dinner. (Walking Irving Place and peeking into Gramercy Park--the "Gramercy Park Litmus Test" hovered a little--qualified as dessert).
I believe one of tonight's specials is
There must be a word for when words have matching endings. Certainly the vowel corridor helps with the affinity between these two here.
Closing the menu, I remembered the time a woman on the subway platform asked me if the train went to Yankee Station. Also David Henry Hwang's new play Chinglish came to mind. (According to The Economic Times, M. Butterfly is "essentially banned" in China.)
What if it shrimpy were spelled schrimpy?