Word: plump
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...France, where a great chef can earn more glory than a general, the supreme accolade for a restaurant is a chaste *** in the Guide Michelin. Less a guidebook than the culinary conscience of France, the plump red volume is an annual honors list grading 3,036 (of 60,000) French restaurants and 6,600 hotels from Calais to the Côte d'Azur. Until this year the Guide counted only ten eating places-four in Paris-worthy of three-star grandeur, promising "the glory of French cooking," with "price no object."* The award of a single star usually...
George II & All That. After selling his life story to the News of the World (for a reported $40,000), Alfie settled back to crack the laws of England. In the course of researching Alfie's abstruse legal quibbles, plump Lila Stuckley, his common-law wife, became a familiar figure in the British Museum's venerable reading room. Said she: "Oh dear. I find it all very difficult. Laws going back to 1742. George II and all that, and that queer language with all those double efs instead of esses." Alfie, to litigation born, delved up enough dusty...
Louis Joxe has plump, ruddy cheeks, a large nose, silver hair and silver-rimmed spectacles; he looks, cracked French Novelist Jules Roy, "like a Roman consul, or maybe a cardinal." De Gaulle has praised him as "a model of conscience, the tomb of discretion," but he is also noted for humor and informality. In 1960, he was assigned to escort Nikita Khrushchev on his tour of France, became one of the few contenders to top Khrushchev in a proverb-spouting contest. The old adage (quoted by Dromio of Syracuse in Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors) that stopped Nikita...
Almost as big as Hays is Ronnie Gilbert, the only female member of the group, has a reasonably pleasant voice, but she bounces around on stage too much. A plump woman in sedate dress gyrating like a 16-year-old cheer-leader looks ludicrous, and embarrasses. Although her enthusiasm is contagious and creditable, she comes across better on records than in person...
Hard by the Swiss-German border, 50 green-coated hunters crouched in the bulrushes and cocked their scatter-guns. The hunters were edgy. It was 7:27 a.m.-three minutes left before they could start banging away legally at the flock of plump, brown-black Belchen (coots) paddling peacefully across the nippy surface of Lake Constance. Suddenly, a single shot sounded-then a rapid fusillade. Out of the reeds raced a Swiss patrol boat. "Wrho fired those shots?" roared an angry official. "Not us," answered a sullen German hunter. "It was those damned Tierschutzverein [i.e., S.P.C.A.] people trying to warn...