The closed doors swung open, and we found ourselves drowning in a sea of Burgundy’s proudest vintages, Rheims’ sparkle, Cognac’s fire. Snails, pâtés, quenelles de brochet; always a great chilled fish in toto on a platter; venison and pheasants in a dozen rich brown odorous baths; intricate ices and well-laced beaten creams… and all of them served to the weighty tune of polite conversation, part condescending and part awed: it was too much for us.
Fisher/Gastronomical
THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT 
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