Did anyone ever love Paris, or at least eating in Paris, like Liebling. I share his love for the city and for the cuisine. Perhaps this colors my view but I really enjoyed this book.

Did anyone ever love Paris, or at least eating in Paris, like Liebling. I share his love for the city and for the cuisine. Perhaps this colors my view but I really enjoyed this book.

Did anyone ever love Paris, or at least eating in Paris, like Liebling. I share his love for the city and for the cuisine. Perhaps this colors my view but I really enjoyed this book.

This book was strongly recommended to me by a friend who is from Europe and is very discerning when it comes to American writers. I'm glad that I have it.

While not nearly as zany or as challenging as Kerouac or Burroughs, this work, at its best, is rich, insightful and intensely funny: "What he called his pipes("ma tuyauterie"), being insufficiently excercised, lost their tone, like the leg muscles of a retired champion. When, in his kindly effort to please me, he challenged the escargots en pots de chambre, he was like an old fighter who tries a comeback without training for it."

The language is elegant and piercing, despite what the hypercritics have said; and the work stands as an opus to epicurean bliss.

It's well worth the read before, after, or in between the wonderful meals!

This book was strongly recommended to me by a friend who is from Europe and is very discerning when it comes to American writers. I'm glad that I have it.

While not nearly as zany or as challenging as Kerouac or Burroughs, this work, at its best, is rich, insightful and intensely funny: "What he called his pipes("ma tuyauterie"), being insufficiently excercised, lost their tone, like the leg muscles of a retired champion. When, in his kindly effort to please me, he challenged the escargots en pots de chambre, he was like an old fighter who tries a comeback without training for it."

The language is elegant and piercing, despite what the hypercritics have said; and the work stands as an opus to epicurean bliss.

It's well worth the read before, after, or in between the wonderful meals!

I have to say first of all that I'm a sucker for all of the "Paris in the early part of the twentieth century" literature. I love Celine and Miller, but my favorite was Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. Well, Between Meals is no A Moveable Feast but it certainly is a high quality read that I can unquestionably recommend to you.

Liebling, make no mistake, is a top notch writer and his sentence structure, use of metaphor, and style have much to offer aspiring wordsmiths. He has an eye for the essential and this is particularly true if you're at all like me as far as food is concerned. Liebling is a true gourmand and, even though I am completely unlearned and unappreciative in regards to fine dining, I still enjoyed his narration and memories of that splendid age.

The best of these essays is "Passable" where he recalls his old girlfriend from his student years. Liebling informs us that he does a poor job in reconstructing her but his description of their romance is quite compelling. I loved that essay just as I did the one on Mirande. This is a world long gone but we're fortunate that books like this are still in print. Reading it will give you a snapshot of beauty that will hang like a Renoir in the corridors of your mind.

This is a fantastic book, but if you've never cracked The New Yorker open before, you might not like the style. Very in the moment and tongue in cheek, Liebling is a master wordsmith leaving no offense done to him by the onset of modernity unheckled. Some of the greatest tidbits come when he derrides the famous Michelin Star rating system for French restaurants, now a standard that chefs have literally killed themselves over - Liebling reminds you that its just a rating from a TIRE manufacturer and that he feels it marked the decline of real French cooking.

I read passages of this book out loud to friends and family, most notably the ones dealing with the immense amounts of food, and always got a laugh. This is not a book dealing with the upper crust of French high society, but rather a street wise, in the guts little tome that entertains and educates - though sadly, it is unlikely one can find the Paris that Liebling describes anymore.

Before purchasing this book, I read all the customer comments which gave nothing but praise. I just don't get it. I wish one of the reviewers would have given me tips on how to stay awake while plodding through each sentence/paragraph, along with where to find a single nugget in these pages worth remembering. Okay, I'll probably always wonder how the author's love of boxing was deemed worth inclusion, but then I wonder why the entire book was printed. I feel suckered! And can't think of anything to recommend this book. My advice is to spend your money on ANYTHING written by M.F.K. Fisher, "The Tummy Trilogy" by Calvin Trillin or "Blue Trout and Black Truffles" by Joseph Wechsberg for much more pleasurable reading.

I have to say that I did not find Liebling's book as much of an enthralling delight as the other reviewers. Much of that could simply be due to the fact that I was expecting a book about eating in Paris and about the joys of French food. The subject matter of the book was neither Paris of the 1920s nor French food, though both crop up with great frequency in his essays. The essays are more personal riffs on Mr Liebling's own life experiences which happen to be in Paris and of which food played a major part.

However, I frankly did not find Mr Liebling's life to be so interesting that I wanted to read about it. Nor did I find his writing to be particulary humourous or engaging. This could well be due to my lack of sympathy for Mr Liebling's view of the world. In particular, his espousal of the virtues of being fat, and his disparaging remarks on the form of the 50s woman I found exceedingly disconcerting.

So, yes, I do realise that he is supposed to be a classic food writer of his age, but I will say that perhaps he has not worn well with time. (Although if I wanted to read a writer of about the same period, I'd go to M K Fisher any day!)

My Personal Rating Scale:
5 stars: Engaging, well-written, highly entertaining or informative, thought provoking, pushes the envelope in one or more ways, a classic.
4 stars: Engaging, well-written, highly entertaining or informative. Book that delivers well in terms of its specific genre or type, but does not do more than that.
3 stars: Competent. Does what it sets out to do competently, either on its own terms on within the genre, but is nothing special. May be clichéd but is still entertaining.
2 stars: Fails to deliver in various respects. Significantly clichéd. Writing is poor or pedestrian. Failed to hold my attention.
1 star: Abysmal. Fails in all respects.

Much of Between the Meals, as the title suggests, is about what happens between meals, though the meals are always there in the background. When Liebling talks about friendship and love, he is superb; when he describes his apprenticeship in eating, however, he is incomparable. Others (a few) may write as well; others may have as sensitive a palate, but no serious writer can match Liebling's perverse determination in the pursuit of culinary pleasure and gigantic appetite. This is the finest book on eating ever written by an American. Being a Francophile, Liebling was mistaken in asserting that France is superior to China in its culinary art. He forgot that he was describing the--as he puts it-- "late silver" age of French cuisine, the 1920s, during which most people in China were starving. Today, of course, France is probably in the Bronze age; and the Chinese have just recovered from famines. But that mistake aside, this book is thoroughly satisfying, highly recommended for those,i.e. all of us, who must accept mediocre cooking everyday.

This slim volume exudes charm and decadence. It is perfectly written, and evocative of a bygone era, when one could move to Paris without money and experiment with the finest wines and cuisine. Entertaining, obsessive, delightful

A wonderful book. Something to savor. A book that I could not part with. A book you can go back to read a chapter again. I was so happy to find someone else had taken time to write a review

This hilarious gastronomic coming-of-age is set in Paris, where Liebling was a student in the 1920s, and where he did what any sensualist in Paris does: spends all his dad's money on food (and let's not forget the cognac and wine). His descriptions of the oddball people he meets are original and sharp. You can't read this book and not want to eat, you can't read it and not laugh