Monday, January 08, 2007

Saturday morning ritual at Le Gourmand

Caucasian woman, late 20s, with thick blonde curls tucked behind her ears, wearing a collared white shirt under a green cardigan.

Heat: An Amateur's Adventures As Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker, and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany, Bill Buford (Doubleday Canada)

About page 110:

The Maestro, clearly a gifted chef, was also something of a show-off. When he prepares his blancmange (a sweet, meaty white sauce made from minced capon breast and almond milk), he suggests dividing it in two and adding egg yolk and saffron to one part, so you can then serve two parts together, a swirl of white and bright yellow.

Asian male, late 20s, neatly cropped brown hair, wearing green sweater over lean physique. Sitting across from his wife, the woman reading Heat.

The Selfish Gene, Richard Dawkins (Oxford University Press)

About page 133:
There is no evidence, one way or the other, on whether cuckoos, and other birds of similar 'brood-parasitic' habit, actually employ the blackmail tactic. But they certainly do not lack ruthlessness. For instance, there are honeyguides who, like cuckoos, lay their eggs in the nests of other species. The baby honeyguide is equipped with a sharp, hooked beak. As soon as he hatches out, while he is still blind, naked, and otherwise helpless, he scythes and slashes his foster brothers and sisters to death: dead brothers do not compete for food!

She's distracted, looking past her husband's shoulder. What is it? he asks. She peers over the top of her book, studying the man at the next table. He's wearing a black leather jacket and Harley Davidson t-shirt. He appears to be in his mid 40s, squinting harshly over his bifocals into his satchel. He brushes a wisp of greasy hair off his face and proceeds with some difficulty to burrow deeper into his bag, producing item after item as if he's never seen each one before. She straightens suddenly, nodding urgently to her husband who swivels. No, no! she hisses. Wuh? he replies. How am I...? Discreetly, she hedges. The husband pretends to fish something from the pocket of his jacket, peering up toward the man. He's holding a pocketknife that he swipes open in one quick motion. Six inches. The husband turns back to his wife, mouth agape, leaning forward. Whatthehelldowedo?! Forehead crinkled, one eye closed, she steals another glimpse. Slightly relieved, she says, It's nothing. The husband turns around. The man is running the knife along the lip of a manila envelope, his face relaxed as he begins to read the oversized crayon lettering on the page. The husband looks at his wife like he doesn't know her. ThatdoesNOTmakeitokay!

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