I Wrote From The Time I Was

. . . Gastronomical Perfection Can Be Reached In These Combinations: One Person Dining Alone, Usually Upon A Couch Or A Hill Side; Two People, Of No Matter What Sex Or Age, Dining In A Good Restaurant; Six People . . . Dining In A Good Home.

Too Few Of Us, Perhaps, Feel That Breaking Of Bread, The Sharing Of Salt, The Common Dipping Into One Bowl, Mean More Than Satisfaction Of A Need. We Make Such Primal Things As Casual As Tunes Heard Over A Radio, Forgetting The Mystery And Strength In Both.

Wine And Cheese Are Ageless Companions, Like Aspirin And Aches, Or June And Moon, Or Good People And Noble Ventures.

It Seems To Me That Our Three Basic Needs, For Food And Security And Love, Are So Mixed And Mingled And Entwined That We Cannot Straightly Think Of One Without The Others.

Life Is Hard, We Say. An Oyster's Life Is Worse. She Lives Motionless, Soundless, Her Own Cold Ugly Shape Her Only Dissipation.