I love to cook.  By the time the original Petit Lux, the restaurant I cooked at, closed, I'd thought I had enough of the kitchen.  But this fall weather has brought on a rash of new recipes.

Grouse are hunted only two weeks a year, and my "game" man had six.  "I wanted 20, but the pickins' were slim", he complained.  Despite a rather stiff price, I took two to cook for dinner with our favorite Canadians.  It was quiet while we ate, save for sucking on the bones.  The flavor of the bird was quite distinctive -- lots of dark meat, but not musky like a pigeon.  I may have put in a few too many juniper berries for such "un-gamey" fowl, but the sauce "grand veneur" turned out well.  It's hard to go back to chicken.



I had wild dreams for two nights afterward, and on Monday a fledgling crow fell into our courtyard.  He's a rangy bird, extra-timid. He hides behind the shrubbery whenever we go out to leave more food in his bowl.  His usual menu is bacon.  In a moment of worry over his appetite, I cooked him up a plate of escargot.  "It that bird eating risotto?" Olivier queried.  "Yes, but he prefers the morsels of chicken".  He loves chicken.

I must confess I invite people over to enjoy my cooking hobby.  Blair likes to eat, but a tagine is food for at least six.  In Connecticut, I entertained 15 out of our 21 days.  "This is the fourth night in a row we've eaten at your house", my nephew said soberly.  We made a communal meal around their barbecue next night.

I like to sit around the table and hear what everyone has to say.  If someone can eat a grouse with a straight face, they are an exceptional person.  They've traveled in body or spirit; they know the value of a fresh experience; they're not neurotic.  (I make plenty of side dishes for the latter).

It is a handicap to not be able to eat.  Breaking bread together is the basis of friendships, not to mention most major religions.

I made a fish and red pepper stew this week, again for the Canadians, and an English friend's daughter, who is looking at fashion schools in Paris.  They got on like a house afire, making the world smaller over the dining room table.

We are not planning to eat the crow.  I've rigged up a circus of perches around the edge of the courtyard, encouraging him to leave when he's ready.  But where else will he find his porcelain dish full?

Laurie (painting and text) and Blair PESSEMIER
Chef Champagne  Acrylic on canvas  13 x 16 inches
see more chefs (and the crow) at:   http://www.artnotesparis.blogspot.com/