At six-thirty Friday morning we rushed through the pouring rain to the Luxembourg Garden rail station.  I kept telling myself, "soon, sunny Italy!"   Our Air France plane was leaving from terminal two at 8:50.  The train traveled at an irritatingly slow pace, sounding its horn as we passed each station.  Dashing through the terminal, scarcely an hour before the flight, we read:  Paris/Rome -- canceled.

I've been reading a book called the "Pleasures of Italy" in anticipation of the trip.  It is a little like artnotes, without the pictures.  It is full of pleasant  stories about "coco fresco" -- those pyramids of coconut and bubbling water at every little coffee stand in Rome; the nuances of language; the eternal idiosyncrasies of the eternal city.  I have not yet reached the chapter on "strikes".

As we approached the counter, it was clear the Rome airport was on strike.  Our next possible flight would be Saturday night.  Not being familiar with the roads in Italy, we thought it best to make the approach to the country house in daylight and opted for Sunday morning.  "Be here at least two hours ahead of time," the clerk advised us, "the flight is completely full now."

We took the painfully slow train back to Paris, disembarking at the Luxembourg Gardens.  We made our way home, past the Petit Lux, where we stopped for coffee and a sympathetic ear.  It was there it occurred to me to use my new cookbook.

Passing an Indian restaurant in London last week, I noticed a cookbook in the window.  "Let's eat here," I suggested -- bad restaurants rarely offer cookbooks.  At the table I picked up the recipes along with the menu.  We ordered a beet (yes, magenta)  curry, and lemon rice.  I was hooked.  Das Sreedharan is my hero.

Friday afternoon we went to the Gare de Nord  neighborhood, official home of Paris-Indian products.  I have longed to go into some of those little grocery stores with shrimp and coconuts on the street.  We found a place with curry leaves in the window.  I have cookbooks which state "there is no such plant as a curry plant".  I gleefully purchased a large bunch of "Murraya koenigi", which I added generously to my pot.

The man who waited on us was from Sri Lanka.  "Just a minute," he'd say, "these smaller mustard seeds are better."  Blair isn't sure he steered us right on the coconut, but it seemed just fine to me.  The green mangoes are best for cooking; the ripe ones are just for dessert.

I made prawn and mango curry, a shallot thoran (warm shallot salad, with coconut and a special small, Sri Lankan shallot), spinach and mango moru curry, and the famous lemon cashew rice.

Keeping in mind my French audience, I only slit the green chilies, where I might have chopped them.  I removed the dried red chilies early on.  I was amazed how the coconut milk combined with the spiciness.  All was terrifically aromatic.

I packed my dishes into a set of stacking stainless steel containers (a tiffin set, bought years ago for picnics), and we brought them to the restaurant.  We helped serve the clients the restaurant fare (very good) and at 10:15 brought out our fragrant collection of exotic dishes.  Michel, Nicole, and our friend A-M, ooh-ed and aah-ed.

I found a website on the Internet dedicated solely to Italian strikes.  It lists current strikes, as well as canceled, and combined strikes.  Our strike, in fact, was to last just four hours -- but was enough to disable the airport for the day.  There are no more strikes previewed until the 28 May.

Today, I am making fish stock from the prawn heads and shells, a tip I learned on a London cooking show (the heads and shells carry the greatest flavor).  As we left the Indian restaurant, the manager gave me a list of Sreedharan's other restaurants and his fellow chefs.  "All the good Indian chefs have moved to England," he says.  Not for the weather.



Laurie (text) and Blair (painting) PESSEMIER
"Sunny Boats in Cassis"  oil on linen, 16 x 13 inches