It was spring all the time. Spring when it was summer and spring when it was autumn; because I was very young and Gramp was very old.

The Aristocratic Province of the Plantagenet Kings offers distractions in country hotels, soft wines and subtle fish from the Loire, bathed in beaten butter.

Bird stew was a Maine dish of my boyhood, It meant wild birds, never tame. It tasted and trembled of the wild.

The first fact about the dyed-in-the-wool, ancient, and honorable Down East institution called the shore dinner is that it is never eaten on the shore.

It's a little patch of heaven—gourmets' heaven, we mean—Bellows' Gourmets' Bazaar, 69 East Fifty-second Street, New York. Here we discovered little delicacies from the Continent not generally found in the States....

I can never think of one but I think of the other. As sure as my Uncle Quentin conies into my mind, quahaugs come, too.

A de luxe variation for the Lenten menu is frogs' legs from the frogland of America; these shipped by express the day after the night they are caught. The frogs are packed in kegs, the minimum order five pounds.

Is there any better dessert after a dinner than a red-meated grapefruit broiled with sweet sherry? Or dress the halves with a cherry or a dot of cranberry, or drizzle on honey.

Cherries Jubilee is a beautiful name for a beautiful dessert. The better restaurants serve this wrapped in blue flame and steeply priced. $1.50 a portion or thereabout.