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335 pages, Hardcover
First published July 26, 2011
Mr. Tate smiled cooly.
-How would you describe your ambitions?
-They're evolving.
Rule 1:
“Every Action in Company, ought to be with Some Sign of Respect, to those that are Present.�
Rule 110:
“Labour to keep alive in your Breast that little Spark of Celestial fire Called Conscience.�
Finis
To him, restaurants were the ultimate expression of ungodly waste. For of all the luxuries that your money could buy, a restaurant left you the least to show for it. A fur coat could at least be worn in winter to fend off the cold, and a silver spoon could be melted down and sold to a jeweler. But a porterhouse steak? You chopped it, chewed it, swallowed it, wiped your lips and dropped your napkin on your plate. That was that.
But for me, dinner at a fine restaurant was the ultimate luxury. It was the very height of civilization. For what was civilization but the intellect's ascendancy out of the doldrums of necessity (shelter, sustenance and survival) into the ether of the finely superfluous (poetry, handbags and haute cuisine)? So removed from daily life was the whole experience that when all was rotten to the core, a fine dinner could revive the spirits. If and when I had twenty dollars left to my name, I was going to invest it right here in an elegant hour that couldn't be hocked.