No, not the seminal Jean-Paul Sartre novel, but a feeling of intense digestive discomfort caused by consuming far too much of J. Sainsbury's "Taste the Difference" Luxury Mash. Which just serves to illustrate the yawning, unbridgeable chasm between Sartre and me.
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Purée de pommes de terre was one of Simone's top dishes actually, and J-P himself did a mean petits pois ecrasés avec sauce de Papa.
Indeed, and moreover, Albert Camus' signature dish was beignets de barre de chocolat de Mars. Those crazy Existentialists. No wonder they saw death at every turn.
I've just started reading Words.
I'm a slow learner.
Hahahaha. You see what I did there? Yeah.
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