The Angst of the Omelet: the Unofficial Diary of Jean Paul Sartre Writing a Cookbook
October 3. Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has never actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home immediately to begin work. How excited I am! I begin with the omelet.
October 5. Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling blocks. I create them, one after another, like soldiers marching into the sea, but each is empty, hollow. I want to create an omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of existence, and instead they taste like cheese. I look at them on the plate, but they do not look back. Tried eating them with the lights off. It did not help. Malraux suggested paprika.
October 6. I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and cheese) is bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of a cigarette, some coffee, and four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am encouraged, but my journey is long.
October 8. Frustrated, I taped two fried eggs over my eyes and walked the streets of Paris. I ran into Camus at the Select. He called me a "pathetic dork" and told me to "go home and wash my face." Angered, I poured a bowl of bouillabaisse into his lap. He became enraged, and, seizing a straw wrapped in paper, tore off one end of the wrapper and blew through the straw, propelling the wrapper into my eye! "Ow! You dick!" I cried. I leaped up, cursing and holding my eye, and fled.
-Original author unknown (but definitely probably not Jean Paul Sartre).