Oh, those were such fine, fat, full-flavoured birds from Bresse - one taste, and I realized that I had long ago forgotten what real chicken tasted like! But La Truite's true glory was its sole a la normande, a poem of poached and flavoured sole fillets surrounded by oysters and mussels, and napped with a wonder-sauce of wine, cream, and butter, and topped with fluted mushrooms. "Voluptuous" was the word. I had never imagined that fish could be taken so seriously, or taste so heavenly.
Chapter 1, Part 4: Ali-Bab
I adore that! "Voluptuous!" "A poem of poached and flavoured sole fillets!" She uses just the right words to get to me - make me shiver and laugh softly and indulgently to myself as though it's an inside joke between us. Isn't her last sentence just a dream! Go on - read it again. Isn't it just?