In A Moveable Feast, when Hemingway was living up over the sawmill, fairly
poor--he said he would go to the Louvre and look at pictures to take his mind off
his stomach growling, from hunger--when he finished writing a story he liked, he
would treat himself to a tray of Portugaises.
Samuel Beckett considered himself something of an authority on restaurants, and he used to take people to get oysters where Sugar Ray Robinson ate them, when he was in Paris.
I used to eat oysters at the Acme Oyster Bar, in the French Quarter, or Felix's, across the street, when we lived in New Orleans, and now that we live in Parker I eat them at Gene's, in Millville, or Hunt's, on Beck Avenue.
But there's an Acme Oyster Bar at Baytowne Wharf, in Sandestin, where this picture was taken. If you don't mind tourists.
The cloisonné pin on my Greek fisherman cap where the brass would be is a Kurt Schwitters Centennial pin.
Schwitters said, "The artist must be allowed to mold a picture out of sticking plaster. Provided he is capable of molding a picture."
I use that as an epigraph to GUY LIT.
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