ST.- SULPICE

I took a little walk through my neighborhood.  Jardin Catherine Laboure is a sweet little spot down the street from my apartment.  Inside the walls is a community vegetable garden.  Although there are signs posted everywhere saying "no dogs allowed", I spotted this little fellow at the entrance gate with his owner.  Seems to me that a common thread between Texans and Parisians is that they LOVE their dogs.

Since the weather has cleared up, as well as my allergies, a stroll to St. Sulpice seemed like a good idea.  The square, well all of Paris for that matter, was bustling. 

St.-Sulpice is a Late Baroque parish church.  It's now more popular than ever with tourists because of its prominent role in the novel  The Da Vinci Code.  The Church of St.-Sulpice was founded to replace a small Gothic church.  Various architects contributed to the design of St. Sulpice over a century (1646-1745) which explains the different design styles within the same structure.

What a sacred place.  I lit a candle and said a prayer for Graydon and Raquel in one of the small chapels of the cathedral.  

Since most grocery stores aren't open in Paris on Sunday, I decided to stop at La Grande Epecerie.  That place is heaven for anyone who likes good food.  I go there EVERY DAY.

Each and every section of the store is a visual feast.  They have such a rockin' wine section that I wanted to send you a shot or two of it.  When the manager saw me taking pictures, he said, "Madame, you can take a picture of me, but not of my wine!"  I apologized, and he was very nice about it.  Don't know what the rule is exactly, but I had already taken a few shots.


Outside of my apartment windows there is a gorgeous courtyard.  I'll post a pic, but I'm waiting until I can get a shot of Stella.  That's the name that I gave her.  She's this groovy bird that lives in a nest nearby, but it appears that there's a nest under construction on my bedroom window.  I never open that window.  I don't want to disturb her work, but more than anything, a visit from Stella while I'm asleep would give me a heart attack.  She won't hold still for a picture, but I'm not giving up.

Weather is Gorgeous in Paris . . . Finally!

Hi gang,


Sorry that I haven't blogged for two weeks.  The rain has stopped, and French language school is kicking my #*&!!!!!  Really, I just gotta tell you that four hours a day of intensive French is just that . . . INTENSE!  Having said that, it's the way to learn.  Our teacher Carmen refuses to speak English unless it's ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.  When I say absolutely necessary, I mean practically life or death.  She is an amazing instructor.  Talk about patience!  When she told me that she was a Fulbright Scholar, I was at a complete loss for words; English or French.  We are so very lucky to have her as our teacher.


My class is small.  There's only one guy, and I can't spell his name.  He's a customs officer from Brazil.  At the moment we now have a darling young woman from Taiwan, two young and very cool Japanese women, the guy from Brazil, a Slovenian dentist (she's FUN!),  a cute Vietnamese doctor from Australia, and me.  It's kinda sad.  I'm the only person who came into the class speaking only one language fluently.  I don't know who else they'll put in our class next week, but there will be a few at least.  We lost one or two at the end of last week.  Anyway,  IT'S SO HARD, but I am actually learning to speak French.  I'm starting to think in French.  My sweet little real estate agent put French subtitles on my tv, so now I'm addicted to French game shows. It's a good way to learn.

Let me back up to last weekend.  I went to one of my favorite restaurants.  It's the little bistro at the Hotel Montalembert.  I had a delectable crab entree that was served two ways:  as a crab salad with ginger mayonnaise and also crab tempura.  The dish was accompanied by a green salad with a sweet and sour dressing.  Wow!  Actually, as I looked around the room, most folks were ordering it.


The real reason that I went there was for my very favorite dessert: molten chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream.  So there's no picture.  I know.  I got so excited when it arrived that I forgot about my camera and woofed it down tout de suite!!!


I have sooo much making up to do on this blog.  I'll write tomorrow to tell you what I did on the weekend.  A bientot!

AU REVOIR PARIS!

Right off the bat, let me apologize for any misspelling and bad grammar.  I woke up a little early to post this before leaving, and time is slipping away.  My taxi to the airport will be here any time now.  This is a bittersweet departure.  Paris is magical, but I love my home, family, and friends.  The experience was that of a lifetime.  I've learned so much about French cuisine and cooking, about Paris, about the French, and of course, about myself.  When I reflect upon the past month my memories aren't all perfect, but they're certainly all meaningful.

I've met so many friendly folks; classmates, instructors, chefs, storekeepers, restaurant owners, and others.  Last evening I was invited to dinner at the lovely home of my friends, Pierre and Veronique.  The food was terrific and the company, even better.  As I've said before, it would be hard to meet nicer, more hospitable people than Pierre and Veronique.  Florence, Veronique's sister was in attendance as I had hoped.  She is completely engaging and has lead such an interesting life, having lived all over the globe.  I love talking with her.  New to me were Nicole, a beautiful, easy going Michigan native, who married a darling young Frenchman named Giles (I'm sure that I spelled that wrong).  Having graduated from FIT in New York, she now designs chic handbags.   Nicole's marriage to Giles landed her in Paris for the past seven years, and with two young daughters settled in, this city is home.  What a fun couple!  Veronique served a delicious shrimp appetizer followed by perfectly prepared lamb chops, ratatouille, and cous cous.  I've learned to love the "cheese course" which is customary in France.  For whatever reason, cheese just tastes better here.  Dessert was "meringues" and assorted chocolates.  No lack of scrumptious food and certainly, plenty of laughter!

After saying my goodbyes, I headed home and this was the stunning view from the taxi.  It only made me feel more grateful for this opportunity.  Paris, I'll be back.

As this is the last post before I depart, I'd just like to say "thanks" to my followers, readers and all those who cheered me on in my adventure.  Having your support gave me the connection to home that I needed to pursue this dream.  See you in the U.S.

Cemetiere du Pere Lachaise

Since the end of my trip is drawing near, I wondered what remained on my "to do" list.   Having cooked quite a bit over the past two weeks, I decided to give the pursuit of French cuisine a rest.  I've never visited the Cemetery du Pere Lachaise so that was today's focus.  As Paris's most prestigious cemetery, it is the final resting place for more than a few celebrities.  Perched on a wooded hill above the city, it's actually quite a relaxing spot.  The funerary sculptures are striking to say the least.

I had a map (not a great one) designating the locations of celebrity grave sites.  The first one was pointed out to me by a elderly French gentleman who could obviously tell that I was going nowhere fast.  Below is the grave of Theodore Gericault, a French romantic painter.  The Raft of the Medusa (1819) is depicted on the front of his tomb.  This painting is on display at the Louvre.

Next came my search for the resting place of Jim Morrison, lead singer of the Doors.  He died mysteriously in Paris in 1971.  I had a difficult time finding it.  Lot's of folks asked me for directions.  Little did they know that they were flirting with disaster.  I have little sense of direction.  There are no directional markers for specific grave sites, but if you see a crowd, be certain that it's the resting place of someone famous.

Third on the list was Oscar Wilde, famous Irish playwright, poet and author.  He lived a turbulent life and died in Paris at the age of forty-six.  Jacob Epstein sculpted his monument which is, sadly, covered with graffiti.  To add insult to injury, a significant part of his anatomy has been removed.  Sick!

Today's weather was gorgeous, so I took the time to wander along the cobblestone streets and read some of the epitaths.  There are more than a few memorials to those who were a part of the "French resistance".  So much history in this cemetery.

Edith Piaf is considered to be the most famous French singer of popular music.  She died of liver cancer in 1963.   Piaf lived what was to some an "unacceptable" lifestyle, and therefore was denied a funeral mass by the Roman Catholic Church.  Nevertheless, tens of thousands of mourners showed up at her procession.

Four o'clock was closing in, and I hadn't eaten lunch.  The little falafel place in the Marais was calling my name. (L'as du Falafel)  I made my way there, and at only five euros, it was so worth the trip.! 

MICK JAGGER WAS RIGHT!

According to me, "It’s not good to peak too early". . . .and  Mick said, "You can't always get what you want.".  Yesterday was a peak, and today, well it was the other.  On the advice of Jonathan, my American friend from yesterday, I asked Frank, the head saucier, if I could work for him today.  He shrugged. (His back to you in the pic, but a good look at the kitchen)  I decided to hang in there, because that particular chef position is vital to any kitchen’s success, particularly a French kitchen. As he was making a huge pot of chicken stock, he said to me, “chicken, water, and garnish, NO CHICKEN JUICE!!!” Gotcha, I don’t cook with chicken juice either, but I do make stock. I smiled that smile of respect and didn’t speak. So it was peel and prep, prep and peel.  A young chef named Arthur worked with me, and although we had quite the language barrier, he was friendly and we got by.  Like Chef Adeline, he started at the age of 14.   Now, at the ripe old age of 18, he’s on his way in the world of French cuisine.  Arthur asked me about my chef experience and the first info out of my mouth was that I had been the chef in an “Italian” bistro.  I kid you not, he obviously felt sorry for me.  "Poor Sherry, she didn't work in a real restaurant." Young Arthur proceeded to tell me that the “French way” is the best way.  I didn’t go there.  As far as technique goes, he’s right, but personally, I like a lot of different cuisines.

Noticing the chefs at the next station peeling something that I had never seen, I inquired (in French), “What's that called in English?” Frank told me “I don’t speak English!”  I knew better.  I asked again, “Is it a turnip?”  Chef Frank just kept saying “salsify, salsify . . . it’s salsify!”  I’m not sure what that was about, but it’s okay.  Yesterday was the exception, today was the rule. The kitchen is generally a tough place. By the way, I would estimate the ratio of men to women in the Ritz kitchen at about 20-1.  Particularly in France, it’s a very chauvinistic biz.  Again, no problem, I’m making my own niche.  However, I must say, in defense of certain chefs, that I was a cast member for a culinary tv pilot where I worked for David Bull at the Driscoll Hotel, and I also interned for Robert Rhoades at Hudson’s on-the-Bend. Both of these highly trained, successful chefs are not only exceptionally talented, they were patient teachers and complete gentlemen.  I’ve met  only a few established female chefs, and the most unpleasant chefs I know ARE WOMEN.

Back to the food. According to a chef who heard all of that going on in the Ritz kitchen, salsify is often referred to as “the forgotten vegetable”. It looks like a long thin purple carrot, and then white when it's peeled.  I’m going to search for some in the U.S. and come up with a recipe.

Olivier, a nice (also very young) chef that I met yesterday, was slicing some huge cepes (porcini mushrooms) on a mandolin and placing them on a silpat baking sheet. (He reminded me of the main character in the movie "Ratatouille".)   When I asked him about the preparation, he was more than happy to explain.  He told me to use butter and “white eggs”.  He meant egg whites. In the French language, words don’t necessarily string together in the same order as they do in English.  I’m sure that I sound absolutely ridiculous when speaking my completely sad French, and the words are surely out of order.

I simply had to include a picture of the altogether charming server that gave me the "Hook 'em" sign.  Didn't see him today, but I think his name is Nicholas.

I stopped at “food heaven", picked up some bread and got a fix for my “sushi habit”. Time to start packing. Paris has been AMAZING, but I’m ready to go. I’m a Texan at heart, and a Pittsburgher in my soul.


Friday evening is dinner at Pierre and Veronique’s home. I am looking forward to it!

By the way, I just turned on the TV, and there’s a well-known French chef doing something that they told me NEVER to do in the Masters Program. Just goes to show that there’s usually more than one way!

LOVE WORKING AT THE RITZ!

Today made me remember why I love the "rock and roll" of the kitchen.  What a great day.  When I arrived at the Ritz I couldn't find any of the chefs that I knew, but a kind gentleman from Ghana who works for Ecole Escoffier took me downstairs to get my uniform (I knew where it was, but he had to vouch for me.) and then introduced me to Sophia.  Sophia is a powerful yet completely affable young woman who is the right hand of the Executive Chefs.  Now that's a place I'd like to be; all the pressure, none of the blood and guts.  I got the "cook's tour".  Okay, cut me a break.  I couldn't help myself with that one. 

The Ritz is like a little underground city.  There's not much that doesn't go on down there.  I've already seen the laundry and dry cleaning facility.  That happened last week when the laundry said that they were closed, and I told them that I didn't care.  I needed a uniform!  In the end, it worked out just fine. Walking into the main kitchen, I felt like I was in a church, my church.  This is the pinacle of the culinary world as far as I'm concerned.  (Yes, I know that now I have to go to confession for saying that.)  In the Ritz, when it comes to food, there is a boulangerie, a pattiserie, many kitchens divided up into garde manger, the "gastronomic" restaurant, the bar, room service, and more.  Fish is separated from meat, and sauces have their own little world.  They have an area devoted to the making of chocolate; lot's of tempered chocolate.  As they're already preparing for the Christmas season, I saw dark chocolate bears and really, I can't remember what else. There was so much!  But what I remember from that particular room is, THE SMELL; chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate.  YES!

I was assigned to "Petit Garde Manger".  That was the perfect place for me, right up my alley, suits my interests.   This was where God really smiled on me.  The first person I met when I walked in the door was Jonathan, an incredibly nice 29 year old American from Florida.  After fleeing the financial world, he just finished culinary school in Paris and is interning at the Ritz.  Talk about a "guardian angel".  Wow!  He was it.  This is not to say that I needed it as much as I expected.  I wasn't surprised, I was shocked at how friendly and respectful ALL of the chefs were in the Ritz kitchen.  Two of the three Executive Chefs (all on duly) came by, said hello, and welcomed me.

Soon, a server named . . .  came by and introduced himself.   I met a lot of charming Frenchmen today.  I can't exactly remember his name, and I don't want to get it wrong.  Anyway, when he discovered that I was from Austin he gave me the "hook 'em"  sign.  Yeah, you heard me.  HOOK 'EM!  Apparently this guy's best friend is a hairdresser in Austin.  (He shall remain nameless.)  All I know is that two weeks before I was chairing the "Nutcracker Gala" he cut my hair into a "mullet".  Immediately after that I had it cut short, real short.  I had no choice!  Don't ask Carmelo.  I think that my dress cost more because my hair was so bad.  Anyway, hair aside, this Ritz waiter was COOL!  I hope to have his pic on my blog this week.  By the way, he handed me a list of U.S. football scores for the weekend.  Apparently, he's a "Cheesehead".

After I picked my jaw up from the floor, I got to work.  Okay, so there was Jonathan, and then there was Damien.  Damien is a handsome twenty-five year old Frenchman that treated me the way I would expect my son (Graydon) to treat anyone.  He thoroughly answered any question that I posed, and just had an all around pleasant demeanor.  I watched him.  He was a "machine" during lunch service.  Enter Eric.  Eric runs the daytime show in Petit Garde Manger.  Right off the bat, he taught me things.  He has an incredible way of showing you step by step the right way without ever being condescending.  After showing me the proper and speedy way to shell huge langoustines, later in the day we did a big batch together.  He was faster than me, but saw that I caught on.  Apparently, Eric is coming to Austin to stay with my family and learn the "Texas" way. Yikes!

We made a few dishes, in particular, that I remember.  Eric was determined to show me exactly what went into each one.  First of all, the amuse bouche. There were three complete components to this dish.  I'll give describing it a shot.  We cut redfish into small 1/2 by 1 1/2 inch pieces.  I dusted them with curry powder and put them under the salamander to brown.  The fish was put on top of this chutney sort of stuff.  (I have to ask Johathan again what the heck they call it.  No one knows if it's Spanish, French, what?)  It was garnished with one sprig of chives. The second part was a fried fois gras ball on a little pedestal (I know that salt and seaweed were involved.)  On top of that fois gras was a little hat made from beet juice, gelatin, and agar agar.  Finally, there was a pumpkin orange, ginger soup with a tiny quenelle floating on top.  I'm not beginning to give you the full picture of this dish, but sorry, service was busy!  Couldn't take a photo, and I'm not really giving you all of the ingredients.

Petit Garde Manger is responsible for amuse bouche and appetizers for the fine dining restaurant.  Here are a couple of the appetizers.  One is a terrine surrounded by the most delicious calamari ever (that's from me, not what it says on the menu).  Another was gorgeous mixed vegetables surrounding one dynamite lobster tail.  Do I have to tell you that's not the description on the Ritz menu either?  Just my take word for it, amazing!

Of the many things that made a lasting impression, the attention to detail is the strongest of them all.  Working there makes you feel more like a surgeon than a chef.  The tiniest of movements the wrong way when plating can cause disaster.  I'm humbled and honored to be working there, not to mention learning a hell of a lot.

I was apprensive about how the Ritz kitchen would be.  All my fears were put to rest.  I worked hard, smiled a lot, took criticism and praise, laughed with the chefs in my section, and thanked God for this opportunity.  If this wasn't on my bucket list, it sure should have been. 

MY LAST WEEK IN PARIS

Today I was supposed to work at the Ritz.  Long story, but that's not happening until tomorrow.

Although Cora (friend from French school) wanted to have dinner in the restaurant at the Baccarat Museum last Saturday evening, I just wasn't up for a "fussy" dinner.  My stomach couldn't take anymore rich French food, plus those kind of restaurants are so expensive.  Chloe, another friend from school, and I connected and decided that a casual meal would be just what we needed.  We talked about going to a little bistro on my street, but her friend owns a restaurant in the heart of St. Germain des Pres, and she was sure that I'd like it.  After a glass of chamgagne at my apartment, we headed to Les Cinoches.  As is indicated by the name, the restaurant space was formerly a cinema.  The owner used to see movies there when he was a boy.  Contemporary, but in no way cold, Les Cinoches is comfortable, and the huge windows provide some great people watching opportunities. 

Chloe was right.  I did like it.  No, I LOVED IT!   The cuisine was just as it should be; fresh ingredients, straight forward, sophisticated, but not overworked.  The portions were generous, so I'm glad that we just ordered a main course.  We each had the beef filet served with as far as I could tell, a veal and red wine reduction, and another sauce that I think was a sort of a parsley pesto. Tourned potatoes in a cream sauce were on the side.  The dish was both perfectly cooked and seasoned.  I would definitely go back.  Maybe Pierre and Veronique haven't been there.  It would be a kick to recommend a Paris restaurant to them!  The address is One rue de Conde, Paris 75006, telephone: +33 (0) 1 43 54 18 21.

Sunday brought absolutely gorgeous weather.  I just took off walking with no particular plan and ended up on Ile de la Cite (once again).  It was hopping.  I went to see my favorite souvenir merchant Tajal.  As I picked up those few last minutes gifts, the owner of the shop came by to give me a few things.  That's not a good sign.  Apparently, I'm one of their best customers.

There's a quaint little bistro just a block from my apartment called La Horloge (the clock).  Considering the lovely weather, I decided to dine outside.  Like all Paris bistros, they have heaters above the outdoor tables.  Sometimes, they're just too hot . . .like today, for example.  I don't know if bistros always had those heaters, but earlier this year smoking in Paris restaurants and bars was outlawed.  That's a big deal here.  Paris has A LOT OF SMOKERS, and now those outdoor tables are their only refuge.   I ordered the grilled salmon.  Liked it, didn't love it.  It wasn't as good as something I throw together on a weeknight at home.  Still, great atmosphere.

I ran to Le Grande Epicerie Paris for a few groceries, and on my way home I spied this little guy in the doorway of a shop.  I must be missing my Lulu.  He looked a lot like her.  Folks in Paris have cute dogs.

This is were I've been living while in Paris.  It's a great apartment, perfect for one.  Everything's convenient and people are friendly.  Thanks CMG.  This was a great find!

A HECTIC TWO DAYS

As I said in my last post , this has been a busy week.  It's Saturday, but I need to back up to Thursday evening.  Chef Adeline had the early morning shift at the Ritz, so Chef David was our instructor.  He too is an incredibly accomplished chef.  As opposed to Adeline's serious nature, however, he tap danced and sang a little during our session.  There were a couple of things that Adeline told us to do and not to do, where David said just the opposite.  This only reinforces my original thinking that when it comes to cooking, there's usually more than one way. 

For our first dish we prepared Free-range Veal Sweetbreads with Artichokes and Asparagus.  In case you haven't eaten sweetbreads, it is the thymus gland of a calf (located in the neck).  Chef David wanted us to use two different preparations for this dish and compare them.  We braised two sweetbreads, and pan sauteed third.  I'll get right to the point here.  The French love this dish, and I don't.  I would never order them in a restaurant and hope that no one ever prepares the dish for a dinner party where I am the guest.   When the braising was finished, David handed each of us a spoon containing a HUGE bite.  We are expected to at least taste everything.  I took the smallest bite imaginable, and when he wasn't looking, tossed the rest in the trash.  The valuable thing about learning any of these preparations is the technique.  Braising is a technique that I have used often, particularly with Osso Bucco.  There are only subtle differences among chefs on the braising subject, but every point of view is helpful.

Next came Bresse Chicken Breast, Champagne Risotto with Asparagus Tips, and Mushroom Fricasse.  I told you in an earlier post that Bresse chickens are from southwest France.  That was incorrect.  They are raised in the Rhone-Alpes region.  These chickens have a particularly delicious flavor.  As I looked down at my mise en place tray, once again, I was startled.  This guy still had his head with feathers, the beak, the whole nine yards.  Although a tough instructor, I couldn't help but feel that the gentleman side of David was showing.  He finished butchering, de-boning and fabricating that little guy.  Fine by me.  After placing two pieces of blanched asparagus on each breast, we rolIed and tied them, browned them in some olive oil, and put them in the oven.  I prepared the risotto, a dish that I can prepare in my sleep.  Of course, I learned early in the week that there's always something that they don't like about they way you cook.  That's okay.  This program no place to have a thin skin, besides, that's what I came for.  They are the experts.  But although I had the benefit of the chef's constant input, the risotto that I make at home is better than this one was.  I'm sure it's just a matter of opinion.  But my opinion is, in this case, my way's better.

The Lobster Lasagna with Spring Spinach, was not what you and I think of as "lasagna".  (Check out the picture.)  After making lasagna noodles from scratch, we blanched them and folded them over several times putting a different ingredient inside of each fold: spinach, mushrooms, tomato confit, julienned celery and carrots.  Yet again, it was time to kill the poor lobster.  David taught us a different technique than Adeline. (This is the technique that I learned in culinary school.)  Okay, this part should come with a warning.  Ready?  You take the lobster and jam your knife right through it's head.  Then, you rip off the claws and tail.  I don't know if that's better, but at least it's instant death for the lobster.  It seems less cruel.  None of it is pleasant. . . in any way.  We made a sauce with the shells (which I can now do in my sleep), boiled the lobsters, and baked the little lasagnas.  Delicious all the way around. 

This night I had a plan. I pretended to be ravenous and took a lot of food with me. On my trek home down rue Cambon, I found the same elderly homeless man from the night before. I put all the containers down beside him. He looked up and smiled.


Chef David was great, taught me a lot, but he talks a lot.  We got out of class at 12:15 a.m.  I got home at 12:45, and for any of you who have ever worked in a restaurant, you know that it doesn't end there.  It takes a good hour or two to "come down" from the adrenaline rush that comes with restaurant work.  I had class at Alliance Francaise on Friday morning.  It wasn't pretty.

Nevertheless, Friday turned out to be a great day.  My French class petit fete had blossomed into quite a party.  Mary, a California native who was new to our class this week, was kind enough to host the party at her spacious apartment around the corner from school.  Everyone brought something, and the ballontine that I made at Escoffier was a hit.  For three hours we ate, drank wine, talked and laughed.  For some of us it really was "goodbye".  Sweet Gemma goes back to Italy with her mom and her Newfoundland on Monday, and I'm in the Ritz kitchen.

Our class contained a wide range of races, nationalities, and ages.  Whatever the reason, we had real chemistry.  Next Friday I'm meeting whoever is available at the end of class to have lunch.  Unfortunately two of my very favorite people in the class will be gone, Ryota and Abs.  Ryota is a young Japanese man.  We hit it off the very first day.  With the same sense of humor, there was a lot to laught about when it came to our French pronunciation.  Abs is an Iranian graduate student living in London.  I should buy his mother a present.  What a gentleman!  I can't talk about our class without mentioning our instructor, Elodie.  She is a gentle soul with a sharp sense of humor, not to mention an amazing teacher.  We all love her.  Fortunately, I'm having dinner with Cora, Chloe and Rana tonight.  The plan is to meet at the Baccarat Museum.  Apprently, their restaurant has a good reputation.  Cora is in charge of that stuff.  I'm good with it.

Friday was my last night of the Masters Program.  I would sacrifice my final lobster for Lobster Fricassee with Vegetables and Champagne sauce.  Adeline suggested that we all sit down after cooking, crack open a bottle of champagne, and actually enjoy the food; and that we did!  We started with foie gras that we had prepared on Wednesday, followed by Crayfish Gratin, and finally, Lobster Fricassee with Vegetables and Champagne Sauce.  The lobster dish looked so delicious that I forgot to photograph it.  It did not disappoint.

With all that champagne flowing, we totally forgot a Salt Encrusted Bresse Chicken had been taken out of the oven earlier in the evening.  No one could even think about eating more or even taking it home, so I said that I knew someone that would appreciate it.  After carving and wrapping it, saying my goodbyes (although I know that I'll see everyone in the Ritz kitchen next week), I headed down the street to find the man that I had been feeding.  As I exited the Ritz I saw barricades and lot's of people lined up for some sort of gallery showing.  All the folks that usually sleep there were displaced.  I wasn't giving up.  In the adjacent alley folks were sleeping every twenty feet or so.  I searched and searched, but I couldn't find him.  Suddenly I noticed a man, a non-threatening man, looking at me.  I told him to take the chicken.  I was humbled, because I could tell that he was grateful.  As I left, a cute little dog popped up beside him and looked right at that container. He obviously smelled his dinner.

Last night I slept for ten hours, and now I'm pondering a nap.  This week I was in kind of a "flat spin".  It was all worth it, but I'm beat!