Infamous NY Times correspondent whom it was suggested bequeath his expense accounts to the Smithsonian Institution.
Here is a sampling of Apple's taste for excess, reminicent of The Duke's infamous proposal after the Christmas Meal at Il Mulino;
“and Johnny always commanded the dinner table.” Dworkin was one of the eight people gathered for Apple’s fiftieth-birthday luncheon, held at Gidleigh Park—a Devon country inn and restaurant that had been celebrated by Apple in the Times and eventually won what was apparently the first Michelin star ever awarded to an establishment run by Americans. In a private dining room, the celebrants consumed Beluga caviar, sautéed foie gras with quince sauce, salad of red mullet and lettuce with olive-oil-and-coriander dressing, tagliatelle with white truffles, partridge mousse with morels and spinach, roasted saddle of hare, Muenster and single Gloucester cheeses, mango and eau-de-vie-de-poire sorbets, gâteau marjolaine, coffee, and six wines—all from 1934, the year of Apple’s birth. “Around five or five-thirty, I was as close to death by eating as I’ve ever been,” Dworkin told me. “We were about to break up and go up to the bedroom and have a nap. Then Apple was saying, ‘We have to have a talk about dinner. Just a quick word. We’ve eaten rather well. So something simple. I have an idea. The truffles that came with the tagliatelle came boxed in rice. You could make us a risotto out of the rice the truffles came in. Let’s have a Saint-Julien, a late-growth Saint-Julien. A ’79 would be all right.’ ”
4 comments:
Amazing! The very menu I had last night.
RW is a kindred spirit of the Duke. Recall the ride home from our sumptuous feast at Il Mulino--Duke was dialing for dinner reservations!
In a similar vein...a new review of an old book that sounds like it's worth the read.
"When evening quickens in the street," writes Bernard DeVoto, "comes a pause in the day's occupation that is known as the cocktail hour. It marks the lifeward turn. The heart wakens from coma and its dyspnea ends. Its strengthening pulse is to cross over into campground, to believe that the world has not been altogether lost or, if lost, then not altogether in vain. But it cannot make the grade alone. It needs help; it needs, my brethren, all the help it can get. It needs a wife (or some other charming woman) of attuned impulse and equal impatience and maybe two or three friends, but no more than two or three. These gathered together in a softly lighted room and, with them what it needs most of all, the bounty of alcohol. Hence the cocktail."
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/07/21/AR2010072104866.html
Reading that menu just gave me a chubb!
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