He despised more or less equally the vulgar unearned wealth of the aristocracy and the banal non-taste of the bourgeoisie, the royalists and the rebellion. He hated the notion of privilege while wringing every last drop from his own.
  • Not long after the eighth and final annual volume of the Almanach in 1812, his old comrades got the sad news that he had died.


    Of course, when they arrived for the funeral, there was Grimod de La Reynière, sitting at the head of an elaborately laid table with a coffin in the center.
Over the years others have rushed into the void that he left - many of them, like Brillat-Savarin, Prosper Montagné, and M.F.K. Fisher, more widely read and revered - but none of them wrote when the stakes were so very high, when food and pleasure and gluttony were almost thrown down the oubliette.