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When Fritz told me of the food at La Couronne, it started me thinking. A man who could cook as well as he did, who smuggled in spices for the integrity of his dishes, and yet who spent every morning drinking swill on the sidewalk . . no, it didn’t make sense. That man’s taste buds were too refined for that beer, but he loves beer. ” “Like Columbus’s egg,” he said. At first, even at Lupa’s insistence, Fritz would not come to the table with us, but finally he overcame his prejudice against the chef dining with his patron when Lupa got him engrossed in a recipe for pheasant.

What he cannot do is adapt. ” He paused and drank again. “The key then . ” said Marcel. “Is innovation,” Lupa continued. “I don’t mean to slur those who follow others’ examples, or those who learn a trade and become proficient at a skill. No. We need them. ” “I quite agree,” I put in. “Perhaps I misunderstood,” said Marcel. ” Lupa smiled. “One doesn’t learn how to innovate. One simply acts, and learns from his actions. But yes, I am here to become a chef. ” It seemed that Marcel was on the verge of questioning him directly about his real work.

I was happy to accept. ” The crowd was not exactly what I had expected, consisting mostly of people my own age. They all appeared rather more well-to-do than I, however, which was not surprising. As drinks were served, we all congregated in the large drawing room, the principal furnishings of which were the bookshelves that lined three of the walls, the huge oil portrait of, I later learned, the Master, and a long table upon which had been set bound copies of some reference works, a violin, a pipe, and a cap.