Monday, May 11, 2009

And I remember going one night to a famous restaurant, the quiet, subtly lighted kind like the Chambord, with a man who was healthier than almost anyone I ever met, because he had just emerged from months of dreadful illness, the quiet, subtly mortal kind. He still moved cautiously and spoke in a somewhat awed voice, and with a courteous but matter-of-fact apology he ordered milk toast for himself, hinting meanwhile at untold gastronomical delights for me.

. . . Helpless, a little hysterical under our super-genteel exteriors, my friend and I waited.

"R Is for Romantic"
An Alphabet for Gourmets, M.F.K. Fisher

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