???? … not as good as those I often have in St. Paul, but pretty good!
Meanwhile, I had my necessary bagel. Onion, this time.
These minor delights leave me as happy as a bird with its own french fry. And as you vicarious enjoy these small pleasures, here is a nice painting in the Metropolitan Museum of Art of a bird enjoying something rather like a french fry.
I think that may be a piece of the walnut. Not sure.
UPDATE 7 Nov:
The Laudator posted this, which I thought appropriate to add here:
[H.C. Beeching], Pages from a Private Diary (London: Smith, Elder, & Co., 1898), p. 12:
At luncheon, Miss A., the Scotch governess, asked me if I liked buns. I replied that I liked them if they were made with sultana raisins and not currants. She blushed, and explained that she meant the poet “Buns.” This, it seems, is the patriotic manner of pronouncing Burns.