Pour a bottle of burgundy out on the curb

for journalist R. W. Apple Jr., who passed away this morning. I first became aware of him when my boyfriend and I were waking up to the Times's radio station, WQXR; we would occasionally hear Apple discuss the latest news from Washington, and it wasn't long before we were both imitating his blustery, blustery bluster. (I see that Slate referred to him as a "master gasbag" in a 2003 critique but they were referring to his Iraq war coverage rather than his sonorous voice). As my interest in cooking developed I began to take notice of his work in the Dining Section, and by the time Calvin Trillin's article about Apple's 70th birthday celebration in Paris appeared in Gourmet last year I had come to admire his appetite (described in the obit as "Falstaffian"), and the evident delight he took in finding the very best things to eat. Go read the obit.