When we talk about the three-martini lunch these days, it is with a sort of dismissive contempt, tinged with a pleasurable thrill of superiority. How much more sensible we are than them! How much healthier! How much more prolific! "How did anyone get any work done?" someone will invariably ask. But maybe that's the wrong question, or maybe the kind of work they got done was a different kind of work, or maybe that is not the highest and holiest standard to which we can hold the quality of life.