Glass

 

Through a glass darkly, dreaming of the day when I could eat at the venerated Tour d’Argent.

“When I first knew the Tour D’Argent it was a plain place with a wooden floor covered with sawdust, but it was none the less a temple of gastronomy, for it was presided over by old Frédéric Delair who, with his high bald forehead, his steel-rimmed spectacles, and his whiskers, resembled Ibsen or Thackeray, and who, like Ibsen and Thackeray, was an artist, though in a different field.” (From Where Paris Dines, 1929)

Photo 101 challenge, day 17

© 2014 C. Bertelsen

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