I landed late -- about 90 minutes late -- after inexplicable problems delayed the flight out of Logan. Speaking flawless French to the taxi driver (he only glanced at me quizzically 73 times) I advised him of my need to to tailor a hippo stinkily. He suggested that perhaps I meant something different, such as the fact that I might wish to go to a local train station! Yes! I said, that's what I want! Here! Take some Play Money! I gave him the large denominations and suggested he keep what he needed. We drove away!
After the afterburners on his taxi cooled, we stopped at a local train station (in above photo, espresso not pictured). After I returned my face to its normal, unaccelerated shape (see also: Odyssey, Space, 2001, A), I emerged from the vehicle and paid the driver extra, informing him never to bother my family again. ("Pas de change," for which the direct translation from French is, "Look, here, under my uvula! My kidney!")
I got on the train, where the highest price ticket had earned me the right to sit far, far, far in the back, facing the wrong way, with air conditioning. The French countryside, which is honestly fabulously beautiful (and which gives you a chance to use all those dormant vocabulary words such as "Le Wild Boar Rhunning Achross The Field" and "The Bhig Field of Sunflowairs") sped by at roughly eight million miles per hour, minus the curvature of the earth, which is represented in this equation by "Steve." I sat across from a woman who is involved in the Arts, and we shared many an interesting story about choreographers, except for the good parts (which are not represented in any equation as "Steve").
On arrival in Lyons I was promptly greeted (let the whuffie smile) and we rocketed to the cooking school, which is like my parents house in Key West, with raisins. Also, barking frogs (I am told) and the occasional luncheon, which was an impossibly snacky cold tomato soup (shopping list: chinoise) with tomato bits, dashes of woostersheer sauce and basic cuttupinshreds basil. With the luncheon came spiffy local effervescent white wine (don't even MENTION champagne, Mister Please Put the Lawsuit Down Over There) and some also white wine and also some wine red blaaargh. And a great deal of interesting conversation, from inside bull on the restaurant biz (see that? whimsy!) to fish resiliency and lettuce selection.
I am very, very grateful for this opportunity to sit and talk with an extraordinary chef communicator. Thanks to each of you. (Also, you readers.)