À TABLE!
I can hear the glass door of the café grate on the sand as I open it. I can recall the smell of every hour. In the morning that of eggs frizzling in butter, the pungent cigarette, coffee and bad cognac; at five o’clock the fragrant odor of absinthe; and soon after the steaming soup ascends from the kitchen; and as the evening advances, the mingled smells of cigarettes, coffee, and weak beer.
—GEORGE MOORE,
Confessions of a Young Man
There’s no city in the world where you eat better. Period.
—ALEXANDER LOBRANO,
Hungry for Paris
