The Sense Of Smell, Like A Faithful

If Any Man Has Drunk A Little Too Deeply From The Cup Of Physical Pleasure; If He Has Spent Too Much Time At His Desk That Should Have Been Spent Asleep; If His Fine Spirits Have Become Temporarily Dulled; If He Finds The Air Too Damp, The Minutes Too Slow, And The Atmosphere Too Heavy To Withstand; If He Is Obsessed By A Fixed Idea Which Bars Him From Any Freedom Of Thought: If He Is Any Of These Poor Creatures, We Say, Let Him Be Given A Good Pint Of Amber-flavored Chocolate... And Marvels Will Be Performed.

Poultry Is For The Cook What Canvas Is For A Painter, Or The Cap Of Fortunatus For A Conjurer.

No Man Under Forty Can Be Dignified With The Title Of Gourmet.

The Pleasure Of The Table Belongs To All Ages, To All Conditions, To All Countries, And To All Areas; It Mingles With All Other Pleasures, And Remains At Last To Console Us For Their Departure.

At The Time I Write, The Glory Of The Truffle Has Now Reached Its Culmination. Who Would Dare To Say That He Has Been At A Dinner Where There Was Not A Pièce Truffée? Who Has Not Felt His Mouth Water In Hearing Truffles A La Provencale Spoken Of? In Fine, The Truffle Is The Very Diamond Of Gastronomy.