Imagine You’re Proust. A few words on cookies.

I tried a Madeleine the other day, not from a diner, mind you, but a reputable French bakery. This was after a treat of a posh-lunch at Le Grenouille with my friend Anita, and an almost sublime heaven taste of a meal. I’d thought the final touch of that lemon cookie would send me bolting down 52nd Street to find a pad and pencil and start a literary hadj that would wind me up somewhere grand. But I was, in truth, too full to bolt just then. So I thought I’d try a little later.

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