As I was talking with Benjamin Pahović by the bar of his restaurant, he suddenly pointed toward the kitchen, whence a sizzling sound was coming. “That’s beef steak,” he beamed. “Can you smell it?” I raised my nose at once and started sniffing the air. “Yes,” I reported, “I can smell it!” And I surely could. “It’s been marinated with some mustard,” Benjamin beamed again. “Can you smell the mustard?” I sniffed the air again. “Yes,” I reported one more time, “I can smell it!” I could, too. Mustard for true. We beamed at each other, and then we resumed our conversation. The smell of beef stake with mustard lingered, but my thoughts gradually turned to the power of suggestion. A fine cook, Benjamin has a way with words, especially about food. An hour or so later, I can still pick up the same smell while I am reading Marcel Proust and puffing at a fine cigar. Beef stake and mustard, no doubt whatsoever. The smell still lingers. This time thanks to good old Proust, I guess. He, too, has a way with words. And especially about food.