If a person wishes to be an expert at a given task, it behooves him to completely understand the basic steps of the process and to perfect the performance of the procedures through constant practice. Take cooking for example. If one were making chicken étoufée, the dish would be ruined if the roux were hastily overcooked. One must be patient while slowly cooking the brown sauce at low heat, stirring continuously for at least fifteen minutes. If cooked too quickly, the starch in the flour will break down and become grainy. Such an inconsequential task wouldn't seem so important but without attention to detail at the beginning, one cannot achieve perfection in the end. True satisfaction is first derived from attention to each and every detail.

Even something as banal as slicing a roast shares this trait. First one must observe the grain of the meat to choose the correct place to begin carving. Thus the angle and pressure of the blade will produce even slices of optimal width... but only if the chef has bothered to sharpen the knife to razor exactitude. No matter how particular the chef has prepared the cut of meat, he will be dissatisfied if the portions are too thick or the meat is minced into shreds. Joy in accomplishing a simple undertaking requires precision in all aspects of the task.

Some epicureans love fine dining because they were unwillingly forced into it by circumstance. Anyone who experienced the depredations of the war understands what I mean. They can never release that dread fear of not having enough food to eat, thus revel in gustatory pleasure at every opportunity. I will always hear the scream of the Stuka that killed my parents. I never forget the face of the fishmonger that mocked my beloved sister Mischsa. So I believe that tonight, I will have sautéed liver with onions and beans and a nice glass of chianti. Ffftt ffftt ffftt ffftt ffftt.