/lit/ - Literature

Fake quote made up by proto commies

What makes the world go round? Love? Not a chance. It's FOOD.

One hundred gastronomic quotations to identify. A mix of serious, midbrow & children's literature. A couple of oddballs. A couple in translation.

Proper names redacted where necessary. Hints, as always, on request.

1)
I think we will begin with a Caesar salad, he says. And then a bowl of soup with some extra bread and butter, if you please. The lamp chops, I believe, he says. And baked potato with sour cream. We'll see about dessert later. Thank you very much, he says, and hands me the menu.


2)
What is it, Papa?
It's a treat. For you.
What is it?
Here. Sit down.
He slipped the boy's knapsack straps loose and set the pack on the floor behind him and he put his thumbnail under the aluminum clip on the top of the can and opened it. He leaned his nose to the slight fizz coming from the can and then handed it to the boy. Go ahead, he said.
The boy took the can. It's bubbly, he said.
Go ahead.
He looked at his father and then tilted the can and drank. He sat there thinking about it. It's really good, he said.
Yes. It is.


3)
****** ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.


4)
"What's that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think, for me."
"And for me," said ******.
"And raspberry jam and apple-tart," said ******.
"And mince-pies and cheese," said ******.
"And pork-pie and salad," said ******.


5)
It was after five o'clock when ****** left me, but I had no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner's man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a paté de foie gras pie, with a group of ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid for, and were ordered to this address.

6)
"What's inside it?" asked ******, wriggling with curiosity.
"There's cold chicken inside it," replied ****** briefly: "coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssandwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater—"
"O stop, stop!" cried ****** in ecstasies. "This is too much!"


7)
"Once upon a time there were three little sisters," ****** began in a great hurry; "and their names were Elsie, Lacie and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well —"
"What did they live on?" said ******, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.
"They lived on treacle," said ******, after thinking a minute or two.
"They couldn't have done that, you know," ****** gently remarked; "they'd have been ill."
"So they were," said ******; "*very* ill."


8)
"I want hot milk and eggs and lots of toast done only on one side". ****** frowned as she paused; "and I want a bag of apples to take along with me for the whole of the day, for I get hungry when I think."


9)
"Come hither, Little One," said the Crocodile, "for I am the Crocodile," and he wept crocodile-tears to show it was quite true.
Then ****** grew all breathless, and panted, and kneeled down on the bank and said, "You are the very person I have been looking for all these long days. Will you please tell me what you have for dinner?"
"Come hither, Little One," said the Crocodile, "and I'll whisper."


10)
When the turkey finally comes on, and is split in two halves right down the middle, ****** looks greatly disappointed, and she speaks for the first time as follows:

"Why," she says, "where is the stuffing?"

Well, it seems that nobody mentions any stuffing for the turkey to the chef, so he does not make any stuffing, and ******'s disappointment is so plain to be seen that the confidence of the Boston characters is somewhat shaken. They can see that a Judy who can pack away as much fodder as ****** has to date, and then beef for stuffing, is really quite an eater.

In fact, ****** looks quite startled when he observes ******'s disappointment, and he gazes at her with great respect as she disposes of her share of the turkey, and the mashed potatoes, and one thing and another in such a manner that she moves up on the pumpkin pie on dead even terms with him. In fact, there is little to choose between them at this point, although the judge from Baltimore is calling the attention of the other judges to a turkey leg that he claims ****** does not clean as neatly as ****** does his, but the other judges dismiss this as a technicality.

11)
— What hast thou found?
— Nothing but papers, my lord.
— Let's see what they be: read them.
— Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. Item, Sauce, 4d. Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. Item, Bread, 1/2d.
— O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!


12)
"What would your excellency like to eat?"
"A piece of dry bread, since the fowls are beyond all price in this accursed place."
"Bread? Very well. Holloa, there, some bread!" he called. The youth brought a small loaf. "How much?" asked ******.
"Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight louis," said ******; "You have paid two louis in advance."


13)
"Cook," said ******, rapidly lifting a rather reddish morsel to his mouth, "don't you think this steak is rather overdone? You've been beating this steak too much, cook; it's too tender. Don't I always say that to be good, a whale-steak must be tough? There are those sharks now over the side, don't you see they prefer it tough and rare? What a shindy they are kicking up! Cook, go and talk to 'em; tell 'em they are welcome to help themselves civilly, and in moderation, but they must keep quiet. Blast me, if I can hear my own voice. Away, cook, and deliver my message. Here, take this lantern," snatching one from his sideboard; "now then, go and preach to 'em!"


14)
First, from two lovely blue eyes, whose bright orbs flashed lightning at their discharge, flew forth two pointed ogles; but, happily for our heroe, hit only a vast piece of beef which he was then conveying into his plate, and harmless spent their force. The fair warrior perceived their miscarriage, and immediately from her fair bosom drew forth a deadly sigh. A sigh which none could have heard unmoved, and which was sufficient at once to have swept off a dozen beaus; so soft, so sweet, so tender, that the insinuating air must have found its subtle way to the heart of our heroe, had it not luckily been driven from his ears by the coarse bubbling of some bottled ale, which at that time he was pouring forth. Many other weapons did she assay; but the god of eating (if there be any such deity, for I do not confidently assert it) preserved his votary; or perhaps it may not be dignus vindice nodus, and the present security of ****** may be accounted for by natural means; for as love frequently preserves from the attacks of hunger, so may hunger possibly, in some cases, defend us against love.


15)
On Saturday he ate through one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon. That night he had a stomachache!

16)
"This, which you believe to be meat, Professor, is nothing else than fillet of turtle. Here are also some dolphins' livers, which you take to be ragout of pork. My cook is a clever fellow, who excels in dressing these various products of the ocean. Taste all these dishes. Here is a preserve of sea-cucumber, which a Malay would declare to be unrivalled in the world; here is a cream, of which the milk has been furnished by the cetacea, and the sugar by the great fucus of the North Sea; and, lastly, permit me to offer you some preserve of anemones, which is equal to that of the most delicious fruits."


17)
Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?


18)
****** signaled for another course of food and drink. Servants appeared with *langues de lapins de garenne* — red wine and a sauce of mushroom — yeast on the side. Slowly, the dinner conversation resumed, but ****** heard the agitation in it, the brittle quality, saw that the banker ate in sullen silence. ****** would have killed him without hesitating, she thought.


19)
When we got back to my friend's house the ceremony began. To him the making of Kool-Aid was a romance and a ceremony. It had to be performed in an exact manner and with dignity.


20)
I must confess to enjoying that supper. For about ten days we seemed to have been living, more or less, on nothing but cold meat, cake, and bread and jam. It had been a simple, a nutritious diet; but there had been nothing exciting about it, and the odour of Burgundy, and the smell of French sauces, and the sight of clean napkins and long loaves, knocked as a very welcome visitor at the door of our inner man.

We pegged and quaffed away in silence for a while, until the time came when, instead of sitting bolt upright, and grasping the knife and fork firmly, we leant back in our chairs and worked slowly and carelessly — when we stretched out our legs beneath the table, let our napkins fall, unheeded, to the floor, and found time to more critically examine the smoky ceiling than we had hitherto been able to do — when we rested our glasses at arm's-length upon the table, and felt good, and thoughtful, and forgiving.

21)
With a clattering of chairs, upended shell cases, benches, and ottomans, ******'s mob gather at the shores of the great refectory table, a southern island well across a tropic or two from chill ******'s mediaeval fantasies, crowded now over the swirling dark grain of its walnut uplands with banana omelets, banana sandwiches, banana casseroles, mashed bananas molded in the shape of a British lion rampant, blended with eggs into batter for French toast, squeezed out a pastry nozzle across the quivering creamy reaches of a banana blancmange to spell out the words C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre (attributed to a French observer during the Charge of the Light Brigade) which ****** has appropriated as his motto... tall cruets of pale banana syrup to pour oozing over banana waffles, a giant glazed crock where diced bananas have been fermenting since the summer with wild honey and muscat raisins, up out of which, this winter morning, one now dips foam mugsfull of banana mead... banana croissants and banana kreplach, and banana oatmeal and banana jam and banana bread, and bananas flamed in ancient brandy ****** brought back last year from a cellar in the Pyrenees also containing a clandestine radio transmitter...


22)
It *was* a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.
"Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town," said ******. "You must have a cab."


23)
****** sat down beside the fire and lifted the frying-pan off. He poured about half the contents onto the tin plate. It spread slowly onto the plate. ****** knew it was too hot. He poured on some tomato catchup. He knew the beans and spaghetti were still too hot. He looked at the fire, then at the tent, he was not going to spoil it all by burning his tongue. For years he had never enjoyed fried bananas because he had never been able to wait for them to cool.


24)
The fallen snow had long since been carried away by the winds, and the cold, frosty grass was slippery in our hands and changed color when we touched it. Hummocks of low moutain sweet-brier grew around the tree stumps, and the aroma of the frozen dark lilac berries was extraordinary.


25)
****** remains a moment motionless, heaves a great sigh, looks at his watch, fumbles in his pockets, takes out an envelope, puts it back, fumbles, takes out a small bunch of keys, raises it to his eyes, chooses a key, gets up and moves to front of table. He stoops, unlocks first drawer, peers into it, feels about inside it, takes out a reel of tape, peers at it, puts it back, locks drawer, unlocks second drawer, peers into it, feels about inside it, takes out a large banana, peers at it, locks drawer, puts keys back in his pocket. He turns, advances to edge of stage, halts, strokes banana, peels it, drops skin at his feet, puts end of banana in his mouth and remains motionless, staring vacuously before him.

>>19907436
POOP SEMEN AND MUSTARD

26)
Sweet corn: the best thing in life. I grew up in a house about a hundred feet from a cornfield, and every evening we'd put the water on to boil, then pick the corn and husk it as we walked rapidly toward the house and chuck it in and dish up the chicken and say a prayer and out came the corn, on went the butter and salt, eight minutes flat from stalk to mouth, and when you ate sweet corn, life had nothing better to offer. You'd been to the top. That's how it'll be in heaven, I'm sure.


27)
As ****** jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides he beheld vast store of apples; some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat fields breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little dimpled hand of ******.


28)
RECIPE FOR GERMAN COFFEE
Take a barrel of water and bring it to a boil; rub a chicory berry against a coffee berry, then convey the former into the water. Continue the boiling and evaporation until the intensity of the flavor and aroma of the coffee and chicory has been diminished to a proper degree; then set aside to cool. Now unharness the remains of a once cow from the plow, insert them in a hydraulic press, and when you shall have acquired a teaspoon of that pale-blue juice which a German superstition regards as milk, modify the malignity of its strength in a bucket of tepid water and ring up the breakfast. Mix the beverage in a cold cup, partake with moderation, and keep a wet rag around your head to guard against over-excitement.


29)
****** always liked a little something at eleven o'clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see ****** getting out the plates and mugs; and when ****** said, "Honey or condensed milk with your bread?" he was so excited that he said, "Both," and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, "But don't bother about the bread, please."


30)
"Marooned three years agone," he continued, "and lived on goats since then, and berries, and oysters. Wherever a man is, says I, a man can do for himself. But, mate, my heart is sore for Christian diet. You mightn't happen to have a piece of cheese about you, now? No? Well, many's the long night I've dreamed of cheese — toasted, mostly — and woke up again, and here I were."

31)
She is thinking about the coins knotted in the bundle beneath her hands. She is remembering breakfast, thinking how she can enter the store this moment and buy cheese and crackers and even sardines if she likes. At ******'s she had had but a cup of coffee and a piece of cornbread: nothing more, though ****** pressed her. "I et polite," she thinks, her hands lying upon the bundle, knowing the hidden coins, remembering the single cup of coffee, the decorous morsel of strange bread; thinking with a sort of serene pride: "Like a lady I et. Like a lady travelling. But now I can buy sardines too if I should so wish."


32)
Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York — every Monday these same oranges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves. There was a machine in the kitchen which could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour if a little button was pressed two hundred times by a butler's thumb.


33)
Cautiously ****** worked himself around in a half circle so that he could face ******. He unwrapped tissue paper from something soft-round and brown and handed it out to ******.
"Please taste this and let me know what you think. I'd like to serve it to the men."
"What is it?" asked ******, and took a big bite.
"Chocolate-covered cotton."


34)
"How do you do," ****** said. "I should like a large hominy cutlet please. Do it twenty-five seconds each side, in a very hot skillet with sour cream, and sprinkle a pinch of lovage on it before serving — unless of course your chef knows of a more original method, in which case I should be delighted to try it."

The waiter laid his head over to one side and looked carefully at his customer. "You want the roast pork and cabbage?" he asked. "That's all we got left."


35)
When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to ******, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over, and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. ****** sat up on end once more, dried his eyes, sipped his tea and munched his toast, and soon began talking freely about himself, and the house he lived in, and his doings there, and how important he was, and what a lot his friends thought of him.

36)
The proper way to eat a fig, in society,
Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,
And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied, heavy-petalled four-petalled flower.


37)
— You have a wonderful casserole.
— What?
— I mean wife. So sorry. A wonderful wife.
— Ah.
— I was referring to the casserole. I was referring to your wife's cooking.


38)
Here's your arsenic, dear.
And your weedkiller biscuit.
I've throttled your parakeet.
I've spat in the vases.
I've put cheese in the mouseholes.
Here's your... [Door creaks open]
...nice tea, dear.

— Too much sugar.

— You haven't tasted it yet, dear.

— Too much milk, then.


39)
The next day, the sixteenth, I went up the same way again; and after going something further than I had gone the day before, I found the brook and the savannahs cease, and the country become more woody than before. In this part I found different fruits, and particularly I found melons upon the ground, in great abundance, and grapes upon the trees. The vines had spread, indeed, over the trees, and the clusters of grapes were just now in their prime, very ripe and rich. This was a surprising discovery, and I was exceeding glad of them; but I was warned by my experience to eat sparingly of them; remembering that when I was ashore in Barbary, the eating of grapes killed several of our Englishmen, who were slaves there, by throwing them into fluxes and fevers. But I found an excellent use for these grapes; and that was, to cure or dry them in the sun, and keep them as dried grapes or raisins are kept, which I thought would be, as indeed they were, wholesome and agreeable to eat when no grapes could be had.


40)
"Tea is ready," said the sour-faced maid; "where is the mistress?"
"She went down the shed some time ago," said ******.
And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, ****** fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of it and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of eating it, ****** listened to the noises and silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door.

41)
There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, crackling, as it is well called — the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance — with the adhesive oleaginous — oh, call it not fat! — but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it — the tender blossoming of fat — fat cropped in the bud — taken in the shoot — in the first innocence — the cream and quintessence of the child-pig's yet pure food — the lean, no lean, but a kind of animal manna — or, rather, fat and lean (if it must be so) so blended and running into each other, that both together make but one ambrosian result, or common substance.


42)
I am not a man who speaks hastily in these matters. I weigh my words. And I say again that ****** had surpassed himself. It was as good a dinner as I have ever absorbed, and it revived ****** like a watered flower. As we sat down he was saying some things about the Government which they wouldn't have cared to hear. With the consommé pâté d'Italie he said but what could you expect nowadays? With the paupiettes de sole à la princesse he admitted rather decently that the Government couldn't be held responsible for the rotten weather, anyway. And shortly after the caneton Aylesbury à la broche he was practically giving the lads the benefit of his whole-hearted support.


43)
— Allow me. I am sorry I have eaten them all except these. (She offers him the box.)

— (ravenously) You're an angel! (He gobbles the comfits.) Creams! Delicious! (He looks anxiously to see whether there are any more. There are none. He accepts the inevitable with pathetic goodhumor, and says, with grateful emotion) Bless you, dear lady. You can always tell an old soldier by the inside of his holsters and cartridge boxes. The young ones carry pistols and cartridges; the old ones, grub.


44)
When faced with a friteful piece of meat which even the skool dog would refuse do not screw up the face in any circs and say coo ur gosh ghastly. This calls atention to oneself and makes it more difficult to pinch a beter piece from the next boy.


45)
"...You all go ahead and eat this cake, now, before ****** come. I don't want him jumping on me about a cake I bought with my own money. Me baking a cake here, with him counting every egg that comes into this kitchen. See you can let him alone now, less you don't want to go to that show tonight."
****** went away.
"You can't blow out no candles." ****** said. "Watch me blow them out." He leaned down and puffed his face. The candles went away. I began to cry. "Hush." ****** said. "Here. Look at the fire while I cuts this cake."

46)
With ceremony, a wide silver dish of crabs, big ones, their shells and claws broken, was placed in the middle of the table. A silver sauceboat brimming with melted butter and a long rack of toast was put beside each of their plates. The tankards of champagne frothed pink. Finally, with an oily smirk, the head waiter came behind their chairs and, in turn, tied round their necks long, white silken bibs that reached down to the lap.


47)
"How's the pie?" he said, rousing himself.
"It's a pudding," I made answer.
"Pudding!" he exclaimed. "Why, bless me, so it is! What!" looking at it nearer. "You don't mean to say it's a batter-pudding!"
"Yes, it is indeed."
"Why, a batter-pudding," he said, taking up a table-spoon, "is my favourite pudding! Ain't that lucky? Come on, little 'un, and let's see who'll get most."
The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than once to come in and win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his dispatch to my dispatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left far behind at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him. I never saw anyone enjoy a pudding so much, I think; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as if his enjoyment of it lasted still.


48)
I turned to see the speaker — he was a tall man wearing sensible feet and a head to match. He was dressed in the full white outfit of a Savoy chef — around his waist were tired several thousand cooking instruments — behind him he pulled a portable gas stove from which issued forth the smell of Batter Pudding.


49)
— How you can sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can't make out. You seem to me to be perfectly heartless.

— Well, I can't eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs.


50)
Outside the building, she started to walk west to Lexington to catch the bus. Between Third and Lexington, she reached into her coat pocket for her purse and found the sandwich half. She took it out and started to bring her arm down, to drop the sandwich into the street, but instead she put it back in her pocket. A few years before, it had taken her three days to dispose of the Easter chick she had found dead on the sawdust at the bottom of her wastebasket.

51)
In frames as large as rooms that face all ways
And block the ends of streets with giant loaves,
Screen graves with custard, cover slums with praise
Of motor-oil and cuts of salmon, shine
Perpetually these sharply-pictured groves
Of how life should be.


52)
The coffee maker was almost ready to bubble. I turned the flame low and watched the water rise. It hung a little at the bottom of the glass tube. I turned the flame up just enough to get it over the hump and then turned it low again quickly. I stirred the coffee and covered it. I set my timer for three minutes. Very methodical guy, ******. Nothing must interfere with his coffee technique. Not even a gun in the hand of a desperate character.

I poured him another slug. "Just sit there," I said. "Don't say a word. Just sit."

He handled the second slug with one hand. I did a fast wash-up in the bathroom and the bell of the timer went just as I got back. I cut the flame and set the coffee maker on a straw mat on the table. Why did I go into such detail? Because the charged atmosphere made every little thing stand out as a performance, a movement distinct and vastly important. It was one of those hypersensitive moments when all your automatic movements, however long established, however habitual, become separate acts of will. You are like a man learning to walk after polio. You take nothing for granted, absolutely nothing at all.


53)
When at table, he was totally absorbed in the business of the moment; his looks seemed rivetted to his plate; nor would he, unless when in very high company, say one word, or even pay the least attention to what was said by others, till he had satisfied his appetite, which was so fierce, and indulged with such intenseness, that while in the act of eating, the veins of his forehead swelled, and generally a strong perspiration was visible.


54)
By this time my deep sleep had left me, and I turned back to the ship and to the sea shore. As I drew near I began to smell hot roast meat, so I groaned out a prayer to the immortal gods. "Father Jove," I exclaimed, "and all you other gods who live in everlasting bliss, you have done me a cruel mischief by the sleep into which you have sent me; see what fine work these men of mine have been making in my absence."


55)
There was a pause, while he noted with mild surprise how much and how quickly she was eating. The remains of a large pool of sauce were to be seen on her plate beside a diminishing mound of fried egg, bacon, and tomatoes. Even as he watched she replenished her stock of sauce with a fat scarlet gout from the bottle. She glanced up and caught his look of interest, raised her eyebrows, and said, "I'm sorry, I like sauce; I hope you don't mind," but not convincingly, and he fancied she blushed.

"That's all right," he said heartily; "I'm fond of the stuff myself."

56)
"Old boots..." muttered the manager. "Old boots... old boots... Leather, are they? Not clogs or rubber or anything?"
"Looks like... just boots. And lots of mud, sir."
The manager took off his jacket. "All right. Got any cream, have we? Onions? Garlic? Butter? Some old beef bones? A bit of pastry?"
"Er, yes..."
The manager rubbed his hands together. "Right," he said, taking an apron off a hook. "You there, get some water boiling! Lots of water! And find a really large hammer! And you, chop some onions! The rest of you, start sorting out the boots. I want the tongues out and the soles off. We'll do them... let's see... Mousse de la Boue dans une Panier de la Pâte de Chaussures..."
"Where're we going to get that from, sir?"
"Mud mousse in a basket of shoe pastry. Get the idea?"


57)
A large dairy animal approached ******'s table, a large fat meaty quadruped of the bovine type with large watery eyes, small horns and what might almost have been an ingratiating smile on its lips.

"Good evening," it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, "I am the main Dish of the Day. May I interest you in parts of my body?"


58)
At the door of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of cold porridge into a pig trough. "Will you give me that?" I asked. She stared at me. "Mother!" she exclaimed, "there is a woman wants me to give her these porridge." "Well lass," replied a voice within, "give it her if she's a beggar. T' pig doesn't want it."

The girl emptied the stiffened mould into my hand, and I devoured it ravenously.


59)
Frogs were one of my favorite meals, and I found I could fix them many ways; however, I got to like frog soup fixed in this way: "Clean, skin, and boil until tender. Add wild onions, also water lily buds and wild carrots. Thicken with acorn flour. Serve in turtle shell."


60)
Before these fantastically attractive flowers of violet and red and yellow, unkindness melted away. They became a circle of boys round a camp fire and even ****** and ****** were half-drawn in. Soon some of the boys were rushing down the slope for more wood while ****** hacked the pig. They tried holding the whole carcass on a stake over the fire, but the stake burnt more quickly than the pig roasted. In the end they skewered bits of meat on branches and held them in the flames: and even then almost as much boy was roasted as meat.

61)
"Lovely stuff, lickable wallpaper!" cried ******, rushing past. "It has pictures of fruits on it — bananas, apples, oranges, grapes, pineapples, strawberries, and snozzberries..."
"Snozzberries?" said ******.
"Don't interrupt!" said ******. "The wallpaper has pictures of all these fruits printed on it, and when you lick the picture of a banana, it tastes of banana. When you lick a strawberry, it tastes of strawberry. And when you lick a snozzberry, it tastes just exactly like a snozzberry..."
"But what does a snozzberry taste like?"
"You're mumbling again," said ******. "Speak louder next time. On we go! Hurry up!"


62)
Best of all things in New Orleans was the food. Remembering the bitter hungry days at ****** and her more recent penury, ****** felt that she could never eat enough of these rich dishes. Gumboes and shrimp Creole, doves in wine and oysters in crumbly patties full of creamy sauce, mushrooms and sweetbreads and turkey livers, fish baked cunningly in oiled paper and limes. Her appetite never dulled, for whenever she remembered the everlasting goobers and dried peas and sweet potatoes at Tara, she felt an urge to gorge herself anew of Creole dishes.


63)
It is allowed on all hands, that the primitive way of breaking eggs, before we eat them, was upon the larger end; but his present majesty"s grandfather, while he was a boy, going to eat an egg, and breaking it according to the ancient practice, happened to cut one of his fingers. Whereupon the emperor his father published an edict, commanding all his subjects, upon great penalties, to break the smaller end of their eggs. The people so highly resented this law, that our histories tell us, there have been six rebellions raised on that account; wherein one emperor lost his life, and another his crown.


64)
"Now, there's one rat that won't be telling any more tales," said ******. He chuckled at his own joke. ****** did not respond. "Rat. Tales. Get it?"

****** pulled the rat from the blade and began to munch on it, thoughtfully, head first. ****** slapped it out of his hands. "Stop that," he said.


65)
Language cannot describe the anxieties, experiences, and exertions which ****** underwent that morning, and the dinner she served up became a standing joke. Fearing to ask any more advice, she did her best alone, and discovered that something more than energy and good will is necessary to make a cook. She boiled the asparagus for an hour and was grieved to find the heads cooked off and the stalks harder than ever. The bread burned black; for the salad dressing so aggravated her that she could not make it fit to eat. The lobster was a scarlet mystery to her, but she hammered and poked till it was unshelled and its meager proportions concealed in a grove of lettuce leaves. The potatoes had to be hurried, not to keep the asparagus waiting, and were not done at the last. The blanc mange was lumpy, and the strawberries not as ripe as they looked, having been skilfully 'deaconed'.

66)
With the last morsel of bread ****** wiped his plate clean of the last particle of flour gravy and chewed the resulting mouthful in a slow and meditative way. When he arose from the table, he was oppressed by the feeling that he was distinctly hungry. Yet he alone had eaten. The two children in the other room had been sent early to bed in order that in sleep they might forget they had gone supperless. His wife had touched nothing, and had sat silently and watched him with solicitous eyes. She was a thin, worn woman of the working-class, though signs of an earlier prettiness were not wanting in her face. The flour for the gravy she had borrowed from the neighbour across the hall. The last two ha'pennies had gone to buy the bread.


67)
In classic cuisine, brains are soaked and then pressed and chilled overnight to firm them. In dealing with the item absolutely fresh, the challenge is to prevent the material from simply disintegrating into a handful of lumpy gelatin. With splendid dexterity, the doctor brought the firmed slices to a plate, dredged them lightly in seasoned flour, and then in fresh brioche crumbs. He grated a fresh black truffle into his sauce and finished it with a squeeze of lemon juice. Quickly he sautéed the slices until they were just brown on each side.

"Smells great!" ****** said.


68)
in the whole market
yours
was the only shape left
with purpose or direction
in this
jumbled ruin
of nature;
you are
a solitary man of war
among these frail vegetables


69)
Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I was conscious that it was connected with the taste of tea and cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could not, indeed, be of the same nature as theirs. Whence did it come? What did it signify?


70)
****** and ****** ate in silence, while ****** sawed shakily at his steak, reducing it to uneaten bite-sized fragments, which he pushed around in the rich sauce, finally abandoning the whole thing.

"Jesus," ****** said, her own plate empty, "gimme that. You know what this costs?" She took his plate. "They gotta raise a whole animal for years and then they kill it. This isn't vat stuff."

71)
"Great thanks," said ******, "but I may tell your worship that provided I have enough to eat, I can eat it as well, or better, standing, and by myself, than seated alongside of an emperor. And indeed, if the truth is to be told, what I eat in my corner without form or fuss has much more relish for me, even though it be bread and onions, than the turkeys of those other tables where I am forced to chew slowly, drink little, wipe my mouth every minute, and cannot sneeze or cough if I want or do other things that are the privileges of liberty and solitude."


72)
Our prior loves exceedingly the white of a capon. In that, said ******, he doth not resemble the foxes; for of the capons, hens, and pullets which they carry away they never eat the white. Why? said the monk. Because, said ******, they have no cooks to dress them; and, if they be not competently made ready, they remain red and not white; the redness of meats being a token that they have not got enough of the fire, whether by boiling, roasting, or otherwise, except the shrimps, lobsters, crabs, and crayfishes, which are cardinalized with boiling. By God's feast-gazers, said the monk, the porter of our abbey then hath not his head well boiled, for his eyes are as red as a mazer made of an alder-tree.


73)
One of her greatest pleasures in summer was the very Russian sport of *hodit' po gribi* (looking for mushrooms). Fried in butter and thickened with sour cream, her delicious finds appeared regularly on the dinner table. Not that the gustatory moment mattered much. Her main delight was in the quest...


74)
******, in all cooking matters, had a surprising manual adroitness. The great tricks and *tours-de-force* of the kitchen were child's play to his dark crooked hands; they knew on their own everything about omelettes, vol-au-vents, sauces, and mayonnaises. He had a special gift for making things light, as in the legend the infant Christ makes birds out of clay and tells them to fly. He scorned all complicated tools, as if impatient of too much independence in them, and when I gave him a machine for beating eggs he set it aside to rust, and beat whites of egg with a weeding knife that I had had to weed the lawn with, and his whites of eggs towered up like light clouds.


75)
A book of verses underneath the bough,
A loaf of bread, a jug of wine — and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness,
Ah! Wilderness were Paradise enow.

76)
The man brought their breakfasts on heavy white crockery plates and came back with the coffeepot. ****** had peppered his eggs till they were black. He spread butter over the hotcakes.
There's a man likes eggs with his pepper, said the proprietor.
He poured their cups and went back to the kitchen.
You pay attention to your old dad now, ****** said. I'll show you how to deal with an unruly breakfast.


77)
Large meals were prepared in this room, cauldrons of stew for the insatiate hunger of eight. Stews of all that grew on these rich banks, flavoured with sage, coloured with Oxo, and laced with a few bones of lamb. There was, it is true, little meat at those times; sometimes a pound of bare ribs for boiling, or an occasional rabbit dumped at the door by a neighbour. But there was green food of great weight in season, and lentils and bread for ballast. Eight to ten loaves came to the house every day, and they never grew dry. We tore them to pieces with their crusts still warm, and their monotony was brightened by the objects we found in them – string, nails, paper, and once a mouse; for those were days of happy-go-lucky baking.


78)
For two years I looked forward
only to breakfast. The night
was not night, it was tempered
by hotel signs opposite.

Yet I must have dozed, for all
at once I would distinguish
loaf and cup, monumental
on the sill's ginger varnish.


79)
A cold sirloin, big enough to frighten a Frenchman, filled the place of honour, counter-checked by a game pie of no stinted dimensions; while a silver flagon of 'humming-bub' — viz. ale strong enough to blow a man's beaver off — smiled opposite in treacherous amenity.


80)
A Centaur has a man-stomach and a horse-stomach. And of course both want breakfast. So first of all he has porridge and pavenders and kidneys and bacon and omelette and cold ham and toast and marmalade and coffee and beer. And after that he attends to the horse part of himself by grazing for an hour or so and finishing up with a hot mash, some oats and a bag of sugar. That's why it's such a serious thing to ask a Centaur to stay for the week-end. A very serious thing indeed.

81)
"******," said I, "do you think that we can make out a supper for us both on one clam?"

However, a warm savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the apparently cheerless prospect before us. But when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery was delightfully explained. Oh, sweet friends! hearken to me. It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt.


82)
But I had to get going and stop moaning, so I picked up my bag, said so long to the old hotelkeeper sitting by his spittoon, and went to eat. I ate apple pie and ice cream — it was getting better as I got deeper into Iowa, the pie bigger, the ice cream richer.


83)
The kettle soon began to boil, and meanwhile the old man held a large piece of cheese on a long iron fork over the fire, turning it round and round till it was toasted a nice golden yellow color on each side. ****** watched all that was going on with eager curiosity. Suddenly some new idea seemed to come into her head, for she turned and ran to the cupboard, and then began going busily backwards and forwards. Presently the grandfather got up and came to the table with a jug and the cheese, and there he saw it already tidily laid with the round loaf and two plates and two knives each in its right place; for ****** had taken exact note that morning of all that there was in the cupboard, and she knew which things would be wanted for their meal.


84)
The coffee was brought and the hot rolls and cream and the paté de foie gras and they set to. They spread the cream on the pâté and they ate it. They devoured great spoonfuls of jam. They crunched the delicious crisp bread voluptuously. What was love to ****** then? Let the Prince keep his palace in Rome and his castle in the Apennines. They did not speak. What they were about was much too serious. They ate with solemn, ecstatic fervour.

"I haven't eaten potatoes for twenty-five years," said ****** in a far-off brooding tone.

"Waiter," cried ******, "bring fried potatoes for three."


85)
"Bring me a plate of peas," he said, "and a bottle of ginger beer."

He spoke roughly in order to belie his air of gentility for his entry had been followed by a pause of talk. His face was heated. To appear natural he pushed his cap back on his head and planted his elbows on the table. The mechanic and the two work-girls examined him point by point before resuming their conversation in a subdued voice. The girl brought him a plate of grocer's hot peas, seasoned with pepper and vinegar, a fork and his ginger beer.

86)
She knew from the effort, the rise in his voice to surmount a difficult word that it was the first time he had said 'we'. "We did this, we did that." They'll say that all their lives, she thought, and an exquisite scent of olives and oil and juice rose from the great brown dish as ******, with a little flourish, took the cover off. The cook had spent three days over that dish. And she must take great care, ****** thought, diving into the soft mass, to choose a specially tender piece for ******. And she peered into the dish, with its shiny walls and its confusion of savoury brown and yellow meats and its bay leaves and its wine, and thought, This will celebrate the occasion — a curious sense rising in her, at once freakish and tender, of celebrating a festival, as if two emotions were called up in her, one profound — for what could be more serious than the love of man for woman, what more commanding, more impressive, bearing in its bosom the seeds of death; at the same time these lovers, these people entering into illusion glittering eyed, must be danced round with mockery, decorated with garlands.


87)
******, somewhat suspicious of his wine, took a sip of it, startled, raised the glass first to his nose and then to his eyes, and sat it down bewildered. "This is very strange!" he thought. "Amontillado! And the finest Amontillado that I have ever tasted." After a moment, in order to test his senses, he took a small spoonful of his soup, took a second spoonful and laid down his spoon. "This is exceedingly strange!" he said to himself. "For surely I am eating turtle-soup – and what turtle-soup!" He was seized by a queer kind of panic and emptied his glass.


88)
You get a good spadesman
To plant a small tradesman
(First take off his boots with a boot-tree),
And his legs will take root
And his fingers will shoot
And they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree;
From the greengrocer tree
You get grapes and green pea
Cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries;
While the pastry-cook plant
Cherry brandy will grant,
Apple puffs, and three corners, and Banburys.


89)
"Milk and apples (this has been proved by Science, comrades) contain substances absolutely necessary to the well-being of a pig."


90)
As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.

91)
He entered the restaurant and sat down in one of the red-plush seats, while the waiters eyed his clothes with suspicion. He looked about him in an unembarrassed way. It was quieter and less showy in appearance than the big restaurants he had passed in New York and London, but a glance at the menu told him that it was not a place where poor people often went. Then he began ordering his luncheon, and the waiter's manner quickly changed as he realized that this eccentrically dressed customer did not need any advice about choosing his food and wine.

He ate fresh caviare and ortolansan porto and crepes suzettes; he drank a bottle of vintage claret and a glass of very old fine champagne, and he examined several boxes of cigars before he found one in perfect condition. When he had finished, he asked for his bill. It was 260 francs. He gave the waiter a tip of 26 francs and 4 francs to the man at the door who had taken his hat and kitbag. His taxi had cost 7 francs. Half a minute later he stood on the kerb with exactly 3 francs in the world. But it had been a magnificent lunch, and he did not regret it.


92)
Every night now I used to slip ashore towards ten o'clock at some little village, and buy ten or fifteen cents' worth of meal or bacon or other stuff to eat; and sometimes I lifted a chicken that warn't roosting comfortable, and took him along. Pap always said, take a chicken when you get a chance, because if you don't want him yourself you can easy find somebody that does, and a good deed ain't ever forgot. I never see pap when he didn't want the chicken himself, but that is what he used to say, anyway.


93)
Among the afternoon pedestrians who hurried past Paradise Vendors, Incorporated, one formidable figure waddled slowly along. It was ******. Stopping before the narrow garage, he sniffed the fumes from Paradise with great sensory pleasure, the protruding hairs in his nostrils analyzing, cataloging, categorizing, and classifying the distinct odors of hot dog, mustard, and lubricant. Breathing deeply, he wondered whether he also detected the more delicate odor, the fragile scent of hot dog buns. He looked at the white-gloved hands of his Mickey Mouse wristwatch and noticed that he had eaten lunch only an hour before. Still the intriguing aromas were making him salivate actively.


94)
The dwarf bread was brought out for inspection. But it was miraculous, the dwarf bread. No one ever went hungry when they had some dwarf bread to avoid. You only had to look at it for a moment, and instantly you could think of dozens of things you'd rather eat. Your boots, for example. Mountains. Raw sheep. Your own foot.


95)
Curried wild Peacock and Springbok Ragout,
Bilimbi Pickles, and Tamarinds, too,
Bobotie, Frikkadel, Fried Porcupine,
Glasses a-brim with Constantia Wine, singing...
Pass me that Plate,
Hand me that Bowl,
Let's have that Bottle,
Toss me a Roll,
Scoffing and swilling, out under the Sky,
Leaving the Stars to go silently by.

96)
...for it has been a common saying of physicians in England, that a cucumber should be well sliced, and dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out, as good for nothing.


97)
"Now breakfast," said ******.

****** saw that the most perfect breakfast was laid out neatly for two, on a table before the window. There were peaches. There were also melons, strawberries and cream, rusks, brown trout piping hot, grilled perch which were much nicer, chicken devilled enough to burn one's mouth out, kidneys and mushrooms on toast, fricassee, curry, and a choice of boiling coffee or best chocolate made with cream in large cups.

"Have some mustard," said the magician, when they had got to the kidneys.

The mustard-pot got up and walked over to his plate on thin silver legs that waddled like the owl's. Then it uncurled its handles and one handle lifted its lid with exaggerated courtesy while the other helped him to a generous spoonful.

"Oh, I love the mustard-pot!" cried ******. "Wherever did you get it?"


98)
Stands the Church clock at ten to three?
And is there honey still for tea?


99)
He served them warm cinnamon rolls just out of the oven, the icing still runny. He put butter on the table and knives to spread the butter. Then the baker sat down at the table with them. He waited. He waited until they each took a roll from the platter and began to eat. "It's good to eat something," he said, watching them. "There's more. Eat up. Eat all you want. There's all the rolls in the world in here."


100)
When he had finished his beer, ****** went into the kitchen, and cleared the dirty dishes out of the sink. He ran hot water in it and poured soap chips under the running water so that the foam stood high and white. Then he moved about collecting all the glasses that weren't broken. He put them in the soapy hot water. The steak plates were piled high on the stove with their brown juice and their white grease sticking them together. ****** cleared a place on the table for the clean glasses as he washed them. Then he unlocked the door of the back room and brought out one of his albums of Gregorian music and he put a Pater Noster and Agnus Dei on the turntable and started it going. The angelic, disembodied voices filled the laboratory. They were incredibly pure and sweet. ****** worked carefully washing the glasses so that they would not clash together and spoil the music. The boys' voices carried the melody up and down, simply but with the richness that is in no other singing. When the record had finished, ****** wiped his hands and turned it off. He saw a book lying half under his bed and picked it up and he sat down on the bed. For a moment he read to himself but then his lips began to move and in a moment he read aloud — slowly, pausing at the end of each line.

63 Gulliver's Travels
89 Animal Farm
75 Omar Khayyam's Rubaiyat
73 Pnin? it definitely feels like Nabokov from the glossed Russian expression
94 a Discworld novel but don't know which one
61 I have definitely read about snozzberries in a children's book, is it Harry Potter?
16 20000 Leagues under the Sea
60 Lord of the Flies
39 Robinson Crusoe?

You forgot the eggplant parmesan scene from recognitions. And the eggplant scene from eggplant ;)

>>19908069
63 — Yes
89 — Yes
75 — Yes
73 — Right author, wrong book. This one is very tough.
94 — Yes. There are many that mention Dwarf Bread, but this one mentions it a lot.
61 — Children's book, yes. HP, no.
16 — Yes. This was deducible I guess.
60 — Yes. The pig gives it away I suppose.
39 — Yes. Sounds like a good guess on your part. Not as amenable to logic as 16, but I suppose the general story type is fairly obvious.

These certainly weren't the ones I thought would be solved first.

>>19908153
There are probably lots of glaring omissions. I just used books I've read, then ran dry at about 90, and fished around for the last few. Haven't read Gaddis.

>>19908176
I’m just being silly; this might be gay to say but even though I’m too stupid to participate I think these are the coolest threads in /lit/ so thank you

2) reads like McCarthy
13) Moby-Dick, I think Ishmael but it could also be Stubb
18) Dune
21) Gravity's Rainbow
32) The Great Gatsby
89) Animal Farm
90) A Moveable Feast
93) Confederacy of Dunces
100) sounds a lot like Murakami but I have no idea

I love these threads anon, keep it up!

>>19908653

2 — Yup. Not just because of the no-inverted-commas speech.

13 — Yup. "Whale-steak" narrows it down I guess. It's Stubb's moment of glory. (Ishmael wouldn't be able to boss the cook around like that, I think. He's only a common seaman.)
18 — Yes. I guess the banker bit is more of a giveaway than the food.
21 — Of course. Prentice's famous banana breakfast.
32 — Yes. That butler's thumb is pretty memorable I guess.
89 — Yes. Squealer at his most Squealerish.
90 — Yes. A tougher one this I thought.
93 — Yep. Fat protagonist plus hotdogs equals what else.
100 — Nope, this is an American author. It does sound a bit like M, though, now you mention it. He had Beethoven's Archduke Trio in Kafka on the Beach, didn't he?

>>19908719
13) I'm a fucking idiot and said Ishmael when I really meant Ahab. At least I got Stubb right though.
100) *Kafka by the Shore and yes, I believe so. He's always talking about beer and music

lmao you expect me to read all that shit?

Quick bump before bed.

Hints to be going on with:

1 & 52 authors have same first name
11 & 31 likewise
22 & 41 likewise
67 & 95 likewise

Don't get mad at me in case I guess stuff that's already been guessed

>>19907446
1-American Psycho
2-Something from Cormac McCarthy
3-Gargantua and Pantagruel
4- The Waves
>>19907458
7-Little Women
10-Infinite Jest
>>19907466
11-Gormenghast
13-Moby Dick
14-something by Jonathan Swift
>>19907469
20-something by Houllebecq
>>19907478
21-Gravity's Rainbow
23-Lonesome dove
25-Molloy or something else by Beckett
>>19907499
27-something by Thomas Hardy
30-Robinson Crusoe
>>19907503
32-something by Cheever
33-my boy Milo Minderbinder from Catch-22
>>19907511
36-Pablo Neruda
39-Captain John Smith
>>19907518
41-Tristram shandy
43-something by O'Neill
45-The sound and the fury
>>19907526
47-David Copperfield
>>19907532
51-ts eliot
52-Knausgaard
55-Stoner
>>19907540
57-Dream Life of Balso Snell
60-Lord of the flies
>>19907546
61-charlie and the chocolate factory
>>19907554
68-rupi kaur or something
69-Hunger
>>19907562
73-The Luzhin Defense
75-Keats
>>19907565
78-Wallace Stevens
>>19907569
84-The Golden Bowl
>>19907573
87-The Cask of Amontillado
88-Robert Frost
89-Animal Farm
>>19907577
93-Pnin
>>19907581
97-The Magician's Nephew
100-Flowers for Algernon

>>19908740
What do you want, more threads about starting with the greeks? More "books for this feel" threads? This is a literature board. Fucking read

>>19909687
Okie let's have a look.

1 — Nope. Of course in American Psycho he talks about food a lot. But it's always absurdly up-market pretentious food. This is more like real food. Also notice at the end: "hands me the menu". So it looks as though it's the waiter or waitress talking. Bateman very much isn't a waiter, haha.

2 — Yup. He's just too distinctive. The question is *which* Cormac.

3 — Nope. Rabelais does talk about food and urine quite a bit, granted, but this is someone else. (G & P is somewhere in the list, though.)

4 — Nope. I haven't read that, so it might have a passage like this. This is more homely and (I suspect) a book a lot more people here have read.

7 — No, although LW is on the list somewhere IIRC. (Little Women has *four* sisters, not three.)

10 — No, haha. I haven't read IJ (I read the first couple of chapters) so it might have a bit like this in it, I suppose. The key to this is that it's all written in the present tense. This writer is famous for doing that.

11 — No, but G. is elsewhere. You're getting a lot of works but not with the correct numbers. A admit, in G. people do say "my lord" a lot.

13 — Yep. The whale-steak is a hint here I guess.

14 — No, but right general place & time. They all wrote like that back then. Swift is somewhere else in the list.

20 — No no. The tone of this is uber-comfy and cheery. I have only read one of Houellebecq's books, but it sure wasn't comfy.

21 — Yep. In the first chapter where he makes the enormous banana breakfast for everyone from the bananas he grows on the roof.

23 — Nope. The general situation would fit LD though.

25 — Yep, it's Beckett. Not Molloy. No-one does humorous hopelessness like Beckett.

27 — No. The Indian corn and buckwheat and stuff strongly suggests we're in America.

30 — No. I guess "marooned" might suggest that. But Robinson Crusoe is shipwrecked, not marooned. And also this is someone talking to someone else. RC is all alone.

>>19909687

32 — No, but that's not a bad guess. This is much more famous than anything by Cheever.

33 — Yep. Chocolate-covered cotton. Mmm.

36 — No, although Pablo is elsewhere.

39 — No, although it could very well be. This is one of the books you suggested elsewhere.

41 — No, although the tone is pretty similar. This one is one of the curveballs, I guess, because it's not exactly a story, more an essay (sort of).

43 — No, although it is a stage play from almost the same period.

45 — Yep. Someone wanting to go to a show and the birthday cake and the narrator crying are quite distinctive.

47 — Yep. The waiter the first of many people taking advantage of David.

51 — No. Right country, right century.

52 — No. Never heard of him!

55 — No, although the plain prose style is similar I guess now I look at it.

57 — No. Never heard of that! This is, I think, much more well-known. People here will call it R*dd*t, admittedly.

60 — Yep. The pig is a clue.

61 — Yep. Someone else guessed at this but didn't get it. Mr Wonka talking to Mike Teavee.

68 — Nope, although it does seem a bit like her random prose-cut-up. But this is a real writer. (But in translation, which is always bad for poetry. It might sound better in the original.)

69 — No.

73 — No. Someone else got the author already, but not the work. This is another curveball since it's non-fiction. A hard one.

75 — No. Someone else got this. It's a famous translation of an Arabic poem.

>>19909687
78 — No. This is one of the very tough ones I think. The poem is just not well-known although I think it's good. The poet is the opposite of T.S.Eliot (born in England, moved to USA.)

84 — No. Henry James never has this much fun. Also he never writes sentences that are this easy to read. This is a short story.

87 — No. Damn, I forgot Poe wrote a story called that. That's a real false clue. This is a short story by a European author. It's better known as a film.

88 — No. This is more comic than Robert Frost. It's another maybe-dodgy one since it's from a musical.

89 — Yep. Another useful pig clue.

93 — No. Someone already got this one. It's A Confederacy of Dunces.

97 — No, but there is a Narnia book somewhere else. In The Magician's Nephew, the magician himself isn't a very nice guy, so he wouldn't provide a splendid breakfast like this.

100 — No. Flowers For Algernon is all written in the first person, IIRC. This is from the end of an American novella. A bunch of people have a big cheery party and then the guy is left to clear everything up.

>>19911060
>Arabic poem
it's Persian

Bump with a roundup of progress so far:

2 — (Cormac McCarthy)
13 — Moby Dick
16 — 20000 Leagues under the Sea
18 — Dune
21 — Gravity's Rainbow
25 — (Samuel Beckett)
32 — The Great Gatsby
33 — Catch-22
39 — Robinson Crusoe
45 — The Sound and the Fury
47 — David Copperfield
60 — Lord of the Flies
61 — Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
63 — Gulliver's Travels
73 — (Nabokov)
75 — Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
89 — Animal Farm
90 — A Moveable Feast
93 — A Confederacy of Dunces
94 — (Terry Pratchett, Discworld)

Of those remaining, 3, 15, 54, 81 are /lit/ favourites.

One other point: two works appear twice on the list.

OK, last bump before bed.

#1 is a pretty famous short story.
#99 is a slightly less famous short story by the same author.