A. L. Rowse
DO I qualify to write, as a member of that rather expensive, but not exclusive, club the Duodenal Club? In spite of that, I claim to be a gourmand, rather than a gourmet. In my old age my meal is some- times brought up to my bedroom looking out on St Austell bay, whence comes our delicious fresh sole. Sometimes salmon from the Tamar, only surpassed by that from the Exe, I gather. Alas, no wine permitted. That did not mean that one did not have a good palate at wine-tastings at All Souls in old days. After all, Cardinal Newman, when a Fellow of Oriel, was employed as a wine-taster, since — as a virtual teetotaller — his palate had not been spoiled by much wine-bibbing.