Curnonsky
Maurice Edmond Sailland (October 12, 1872, Angers, France – July 22, 1956, Paris), better known by his pen-name Curnonsky (nicknamed 'Cur'), and dubbed the Prince of Gastronomy, was the most celebrated writer on gastronomy in France in the 20th century. He wrote or ghost-wrote over 65 books and enormous numbers of newspaper columns. He is often considered the inventor of gastronomic motor-tourism as popularized by Michelin, though he himself could not drive. He was a student of Henri-Paul Pellaprat.
Name
The name "Curnonsky" comes from the Latin cur + non "why not?" plus the Russian suffix -sky, as all things Russian were in vogue in 1895, when he coined it. He once said that this nickname was "my tunic of Nessus, as I am neither Russian, nor Polish, nor Jewish, nor Ukrainian, but just an average Frenchman and wine-guy [sacavin]".
He was often called the prince-elect of gastronomy (Prince-élu de la Gastronomie) or of gastronomes, and he had in fact been duly elected in a poll of 3,000 chefs held by Paris-Soir in 1927. There was at the time a series of 'Princes', including André de Lorde, the Prince of Terror, and so on.
Podcasts:
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by Prefab Sprout
Green Isaac
by: Prefab SproutStella Matter, light is failing, making such a fool of thee,
When you'd love to be someone... This is the time, I've set aside.
From selling old rope, and tellingbad jokes, and cul de sac pride.
I've learnt today, while falling apart, the most eloquent way,
To speak or to pray, is straight from the heart.
Oh but to shine like Joan of Arc, you must be prepared to burn.
Take two kinds of look, and one wedding day, now isn't it clear,
There's nothing they'll hear, that you'd want to say.
Forget the style and choose from twelve notes,
In itself it's ajoy, wether it soothes or annoys,
A song starts in the throat.
And if you've no new clothes to wear,
Then simply wash and com you hair.
And little green Isaac, you're gonna walk backwards through the room,
Does that mean I won't see you?
It means you're gonna walk backwards through the room.
And little green Isaac, I hear you're still wet behind the ears,
Isaacs a soft name, it sounds like a pockeful of rain.
Well up that stairway he rose, and down that stairway he goes.