Sublime

Miller tore open a bag of scratchings and got stuck in. As always, knowing how bad these crunchy slices of fried pigskin were for him and being well aware of the possibility that he might break a tooth at any moment only made the experience more enjoyable; gave it a salty frisson. It was basically Russian roulette with snacks. As far as the consump

“a no-nonsense-mustache,”

In a bite, one can taste the specific history and culture of this self-made, individualist, capitalist country.

A favorite local hangout, it also drew travelers passing through town. Bison, moose, and elk heads hung on the dark paneled walls, along with framed posters crusted yellow from nicotine smoke. Mismatched tables and chairs filled the dining area, and two pool tables were crammed into a small adjacent space next to some windows. A see-through partiti

He tucked his napkin under his chin and murmured to the waiter. “Un grand?” said the waiter. “Un grand,” said Régis, and sixty seconds later a large glass pitcher, opaque with cold, was placed in front of us. Régis became professorial; our lesson was about to commence. “In a serious restaurant,” he said, “one can always have confidence in the house

Many restaurants use the “Delmonico's” name. The original and, I believe, the best is at 56 Beaver Street in lower Manhattan

the fact that it resembles what it is: a familiar, worn, old-school brasserie of the Parisian model.