Pleasure.

It was a quick walk walk to Lipp's and every place I passed that my stomach noticed as quickly as my eyes or my nose made the walk and added pleasure.  There were few people in the brasserie and when I sat down on the bench against the wall with the mirror in the back and a table in front and the waiter asked if I wanted a beer I asked for a distingué, the big glass mug that held a liter, and for potato salad.

The beer was very cold and wonderful to drink.  The pommes à l'huile were firm and marinated and the olive oil delicious.  I ground black pepper over the potatoes and moistened the bread in the olive oil.  After the first heavy draft of beer I drank and ate very slowly.  When the pommes à l'huile were gone I ordered another serving and a cervelas.  This was a sausage like a heavy, wide frankfurter split in two and covered with a special mustard. 

I mopped up all the oil and all of the sauce with the bread and drank the beer slowly until it began to lose its coldness and then I finished it and ordered a demi and watched it drawn.  It seemed colder than the distingué and I drank half of it. 

Ernest Hemingway, from A Moveable Feast