Audiobook - Non-Fiction
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
French (General) North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
once a week. Most Cartier in Paris lost their power for a few hours. Paul and I were lucky enough to live next to the show Mama Dada Poo Tay and so were spared the blackouts by some kind of special political dispensation. But on most Wednesdays, there was no electricity in the court on blows. Quarter. These powerless Wednesday's for Chef Boyardee to be creative with our class time. Often he take us to the market and experience that was worthy of a graduate degree unto itself. Indeed, shopping for food in Paris was a life changing experience. For me. It was through daily excursions to my local marketplace on LaRue do Begona or to the bigger one on LaRue, Claire. Or, best of all, into the organized chaos of La Jolla, the famous marketplace in central Paris that I learned one of my most important lessons of my life. The value of Les Zoom ol ASIO. The French are very sensitive to personal dynamics, and they believe that you must earn your rewards. If a tourist enters a food stall thinking he's going to be cheated, the salesman will sense this and obligingly cheat him. But if a Frenchman senses that a visitor is delighted to be in his store and takes a genuine interest in what is for sale. Then he'll just open up like a flower. The Parisians grocers insisted that I interact with them personally. If I wasn't willing to take the time to get to know them and their wares, then I would not go home with the freshest laid booms or cuts of meat in my basket. They certainly made me work for my supper. But, oh, what Supper's one Wednesday, Chef. One yard took us to lay Allah in search of provisions for upcoming classes liver, chickens, beef, vegetables and candied violets. We made our way through a wonderful hodgepodge of buildings, each filled with food stalls and purveyors of cooking equipment. You could find virtually anything under the sun there as we dodged around freshly killed rabbits and pig trotters or large men unpacking crates of glistening blue black muscles and hearty women shouting about their wonderful shopping, You'll I avidly jotted down notes about who carried what and where they were located, worried that I'd never be able to find them again in the Rockets maze. Eventually, we arrived at day, Laura I was thunderstruck. Data was the kitchen equipment store of all time, a restaurant supply house stuffed with an infinite number of wondrous gadgets, tools, implements and Google's bright, shiny copper kettles. Tebow tear fish and chicken poachers. Eccentrically shaped frying pans, tiny wooden spoons and enormous mixing paddles. Elephants size salad baskets, all shapes and sizes of knives, choppers, molds, platters, whisks basins, butter spreaders and master don mashers. Seeing the gleam of obsession in my eyes, Chef, one yard took me aside and introduced me to the owner, mostro Della. I asked him all sorts of questions, and we quickly became friends. He even lent me money. Once, when I had run out of Frank's shopping at Les Allah and the banks were all closed, he knew I'd repay him. As I was one of his steadiest customers, I had become a knife freak. Ah, frying pan freak, A gadget freak and especially ah, copper freak