[Clemenceau] woke up very early, often at three, and read until seven, when he made himself a simple breakfast of gruel. He then worked again until his masseur and trainer arrived for his physical exercises (which usually included his favorite, fencing). He spent the morning in meetings but almost always went home for his standard breakfast of boiled eggs and a glass of water, worked again all afternoon, and after an equally simple supper of milk and bread, went to bed by nine. Very occasionally he took tea at Lloyd George’s flat in the Rue Nitot, where the cook baked his favorite, langues de chat. […] Every afternoon [when the Supreme Council met] the doors opened and footmen carried in tea and macaroons.

— from Paris 1919 (Margaret MacMillan)

t&p’s staff dieticians scoff at Monsieur Clemenceau’s regime: “That’s not enough for a growing head of state! You expect to remake the world with only oats and eggs behind your belt before mid-afternoon?

“Please: some croissants and a café au lait to start your day off right! Then Schleswig-Holstein, Alsace-Lorraine, Danzig, et voila: the Treaty of Versailles! A light lunch: some confit de canard, des frites, une salade vert. Dissolving the Ottoman Empire: a breeze! Shuffling the Balkans: a snap! Un bouteille de Beaujolais, quelque fromages, the Treaty of Sèvres, a nap!

“Adieu to the Austro-Hungarian Empire! Hello Pastis apéro and foie gras on toast! The Treaty of Saint Germain: a cognac. China, Japan, the Middle East, the Treaty of Trianon: some soup for mid-afternoon snack.

“A brisk walk with Wilson and Lloyd George should stimulate the palate for evening: some tripes à la mode de Caen, a few poulets de Bresse, an artichoke or two with Hollandaise, quelque bouteilles (an 1893 Château d’Yquem, a 1900 Margaux), some cheese (Époisses, Pont-l’Évêque, Reblochon, Roquefort), dessert!

“Don’t stint, we beg you: diplomats must hoard their strength; there’s always another peace conference a few years down the road.”