Much ado about pumpkin (bread)

The other night, I went to a coffee shop out on Harbour Island. The "u" tells you it's a fancy place. Poor people don't have "u"s in their harbors. I was there to see some short independent films, hear some local musicians and see some stand-up comedy. It was nice, but another way you could tell it was a fancy place was the level of rude snootiness exhibited by the patrons. Like the older gentleman who sat in the front row and read a magazine the entire time the comedians were performing. Unbelievable.
Still another way you can tell it's a fancy place is in the presentation of what they serve. For example, this is a slice of pumpkin bread I ordered: 

Every single thing you see (aside from the pumpkin bread itself) is unnecessary for me to enjoy a piece of pumpkin bread.
A plate? Not as long as I have at least one hand.
A knife? I guess to cut into small, bite-sized portions before eating it. But that's what my mouth is for: capacity = one bite.
A fork? Who am I eating with, Nancy Reagan?
A napkin? As if my shirt doesn't have sleeves.

This is one of many reasons why I don't go to fancy places. I don't need/appreciate really nice things...like extra forks and people who read magazines while someone is performing.
Listen, fancy coffee shop. You're a nice place and your pumpkin bread is delicious. You don't need to try so hard on my behalf. Besides, I already have a coffee shop.