End of Winter Voluptuary Thoughts

If you were, say, Richard Olney, the pinnacle of culinary voluptuousness might well be some perfectly sauteed foie gras with a glass of slightly chilled Chateau d'Yquem. If, however, you grew up in a family of construction workers on Long Island, the parallel experience might be sitting in the cab of a pickup truck watching a snowstorm shut down work for the day, while dunking a buttered roll in a steaming cup of coffee, light and sweet. Dunks alternating with drags on a Marlboro. Dunks which produced in the mouth the contrast between the sugar in the coffee and the salt in the margerine (no one puts butter on a buttered roll.) The margerine melting slightly in the coffee-soaked roll. Some local band on the radio - Blue Oyster Cult if possible. The hood of a navy blue sweatshirt pulled loosely up around your head. Trying to coordinate your intake so that the last dunk leaves enough coffee, with little slicks of melted margerine floating on the top of it, to finish in sips alternating with drags on the cigarette. A deep yawn, stretching, pushing your fists against the roof of the cab, letting out a small fart. The hell with Cap d'Antibes.