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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.

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    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.