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"Sorry, Fugu"


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Not sure why this occurred to me just now, but a fine way to kill an hour tonight, on the couch, with a glass of wine would surely be to go here and click on number 7, "Sorry Fugu," about an angst-ridden chef awaiting his first review from a brilliant, vicious critic.

"The duck had been reduced to a state that one might expect from the depths of a funerary urn."

"'Paste and pasta, are they synonymous? Hardly, but one wouldn't have know the difference at Udolfo's,'...when Albert got to the line about the pasta, he couldn't go on. He folded the newspaper like wrapping a sheet around Udolpho's broken body, and set it aside."

Note also that it's a podcast (of course) and so can be downloaded and played on that long ride to The Inn. Or the Town House.

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