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MEETING PAUL BOCUSE

1 Oct
My Pressed Duck Number

My Pressed Duck Number

There we were-unexpectedly personally greeted by Paul Bocuse at his eponymous restaurant as we ducked in from the sudden downpour. As a dedicated foodie, I was determined to make the pilgrimage to Paul Bocuse’s L’Auberge du Pont de Collonges near Lyon. If you are a lover of French food, he needs no introduction. His accomplishments and accolades are many including being named the “Chef of the Century” by the esteemed Culinary Institute of America at their Leadership Awards Gala on March 30, 2011. We had reservations for my son’s 21st birthday. Up to that point we had enjoyed a fabulous week in Paris, with fantastic food including the famed pressed duck at Tour D’Argent and many types of offal.

Once we got to Lyon, we sampled the delicious, hearty traditional cuisine Lyonnaise in the many convivial bouchons, all the while anticipating our evening at Paul Bocuse. We were surprised at the distance the restaurant was from the city, but enjoyed the cab ride through the countryside. When we arrived, we saw an unexpectedly colorful exterior on the building. Just as we were exiting the cab, the rain suddenly poured from the dark clouds. We huddled under umbrella provided by restaurant staff and scurried toward the entrance.

Paul Bocuse menu

Paul Bocuse menu

Once inside, we were immediately greeted by Paul Bocuse who shook our hands. I am not the least enamored by movie or sports celebrities, but I was so moved at personally meeting Paul Bocuse that I was speechless. Then I stupidly bowed to him and started crying. Everything that night from the food and beverages to the service were impeccable. I had labored through the French menu with my limited French, but my fluent son had no such problem. As we were leaving, they offered us a souvenir menu, which I took in English; it just didn’t seem right, though, to order from anything but a French menu at the venerable Paul Bocuse.

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NOSTALGIC TRAIN RIDE…IN HELL

27 Nov
Thello train from Dijon to Venice

Overnight train from Dijon to Venice

As I am planning a trip to Venice and Paris soon with my middle son and am in the process of making transportation reservations, I am reminded of our disastrous overnight train ride from Lyon France to Venice.

I had always fantasized about a nostalgic overnight train trip. Thus, on my last trip to Europe before moving to Spain, I was determined to realize that overnight dream on the leg from Lyon, the gastronomic capital of France, to Venice, Italy. Admittedly, I had trouble figuring out exactly how to book the rail trip over the internet, so I eventually enlisted the more competent staff from the travel department of my credit card. Even so, it took them considerable effort to negotiate the details.

I was ecstatic when they were able to book a sleeper compartment for the two of us. The cost for the compartment was more than it would have been for both of us to fly from Lyon to Venice, but then that wouldn’t have been much of adventure. Little did we know what an adventure it would be.

We excitedly boarded the connecter train in Lyon which took us to Dijon where we were to transfer to our “sleeper” compartment. Alas, due to the late hour, none of the shops in the train station were open, so my plans to buy Dijon mustard from its town of origin was foiled. Perhaps that was an omen.

After boarding, we expectantly made our way with our suitcases through the jostling, narrow corridor toward our special place. When we opened the door we were shocked to see two people already sleeping in the compartment. They appeared just as surprised as we were, but since they didn’t speak English, we couldn’t be sure of what they said.
In spite of the language barrier, they kindly arose, helping us with our luggage into this micro area and then showing us how to convert the seating area on our side into two beds. The thin back of the seating area was raised to be horizontal above the bottom seat. The top “bed” appeared to hang perilously from the straps which allegedly supported it.

So much for my romantic notion of a luxurious, relaxing overnight rail trip. Now it was just about survival. I decided my best option was to head for the train’s bar to drink my way into a somnambulant state. After about an hour into imbibing in the train’s dining car, the train came to an abrupt stop. We sat motionless for an hour and a half. Meanwhile, the lights inside the train flickered and then went completely out.

After the train finally resumed moving and the lights came back on, we inquired around as to what had occurred. No official word, but other passengers related that here was some suspected illegal activity and that when the train stopped, those allegedly involved fled. At least those suspects weren’t my cellmates…I mean roommates.

Weary, we finally proceed to the room where we are greeted by the loud snores of our rather corpulent male roommate. I barely slept, but my son demonstrated one of the benefits of being a young adult male—being able to sleep anywhere.

As daylight broke, I stumbled to the communal bathroom to freshen up and change clothes. Obviously we slept in our regular clothes due to the unexpected roommate situation. Yet another surprise awaited me–a flooded, filthy bathroom. Guess I wouldn’t be changing my clothes or spending any unnecessary time in that area.

At least with the sunlight, we were able to enjoy the bucolic scenery of the Veneto, with its rows of grapevines, and villas dotting the countryside against the backdrop of the craggy Dolomite Mountains. As we approached Venice, I was thrilled to unexpectedly see one of the Palladian villas of UNESCO-fame. When I shared this information with parents travelling with young children, instead of thanking me, the mother corrected my pronunciation. Killjoy. For what it’s worth, much later, I learned my pronunciation was correct.