“Went to the old workingman’s tavern; there are worse places that are no cheaper. But there I saw someone doing it right. So truly, so shamelessly enjoying himself, as one should. The man across from me grasped lobsters in his callused hands, bit off and spat out the red shells till the floor sprayed. But to the tender creature within he spoke cheerfully once he got it, quietly and sensibly. Here, finally, was a good not defiled by bourgeois enjoyment; the sweat of the deprived, the disgrace of capital gains didn’t affect the flavor. […] The worker with the lobsters reminded one of something else too, of the great breakthrough back then, long ago. A certain something, later, glimmering, when money no longer barks at every good not wags its tail in it. When we’re spared the terribly stupid choice between pure conviction and pure taste. […] If every worker ate lobster, the splinters from the seltzer bottle would hurt no feelings”. 

Traces Bloch