And while we’re on the subject, what wouldn’t I give to be R.W. Apple, Jr., or at least to have his life or his job. This guy was in on some of the formative historical and political events of the twentieth century, got to live high on the hog courtesy of a legendary NYT expense account (rumor has it that this account paid for a house in the English countryside that included an outrageous wine cellar - because, you know, he needed it), and then sometime about five or ten years ago decided that he only wanted to write about food anymore. So he just ups and roams around the world, eating wherever he wants to on the NYT’s dime. He goes to New Zealand, Vietnam, all over Europe, wherever he feels like. Nice life.

Gourmet just recently ran a Calvin Trillin piece on Apple’s 70th birthday party at Chez L’Ami Louis in Paris. It’s ridiculously decadent, and a great read.

OK, he’s kind of a pompous ass sometimes, but you’ve got to admire his elan, not to mention his joie de vivre, and how about that je ne sais quoi?? I tell you what.