“A ripe suggestion," I said. "Where are you meeting her? At the Ritz?""Near the Ritz."He was geographically accurate. About fifty yards east of the Ritz there is one of those blighted tea-and-bun shops you see dotted about all over London and into this, if you'll believe me, young Bingo dived like a homing rabbit; and before I had time to say a word we were wedged in at a table, on the brink of a silent pool of coffee left there by an early luncher.”
“Tea at the Ritz is the last delicious morsel of Edwardian London. The light is kind, the cakes are frivolous and the tempo is calm, confident and leisurely.”
“Everything is better when it shits on a ritz.”
“A hotdog at the ballgame beats roast beef at the Ritz”
“Like why Lena always thought of Ritz crackers when she shaved her legs. Who knew why? And did it even matter?”
“Truth, justice...I always thought they were absolutes, like God. And Mom. And apple pie.But you could make apple pie from Ritz crackers. You could make cakes without sugar. We learned how to fake things, during the war.”