My friend Damon Lee Fowler tells of formal evenings in Savannah when, after supper, guests traditionally shed their jackets, loosen their ties, discard earrings in empty ashtrays, open a last bottle of Champagne, and, still not ready to call it a night, end up taking leftover shrimp from the buffet and folding them into midnight omelettes. It’s without question one of the most decadent scenarios imaginable—right out of Midnight in the Garden of Good
