Barbra Austin

I eat in restaurants regularly. I love cooking big meals for friends. But when I am home alone, this is the kind of thing that I like to eat.

When I eat steak I think of my father.

Memorial Day weekend is considered the unofficial start of summer, but if anything is clear after a walk around the Greenmarket this morning, it is that spring has sprung.

My French teacher once told me that I could exempt myself from les devoirs by making treats for the class. I did not really take her seriously and, anyway, it is in my best interest to do the homework. But as of Monday morning I had not even looked at chapter 6 of Les Poisons de la Couronne. What I had been reading was David Lebovitz’s new book, which enthusiastically advocates the practice of of bribery-by-sweets.

What better moment to test my dear prof’s offer? And what better reason to try one of the 50 recipes David included in the book?

When cookbook author and former Chez Panisse pastry chef David Lebovitz arrived in Paris to live, there was plaster hanging from the ceiling of his apartment and a stained futon on the floor. His landlord hired a painter but the job — the refreshing of a small one bedroom apartment — took weeks. He stayed with friends in the meantime, but could not find solace in the collection of beloved cookbooks he had shipped from the States. The box never arrived and La Poste, as you might imagine, was less than sympathetic.

This was not an auspicious start.

I initially published this about a year ago, from Paris, where asparagus was on abundant display at every market. At Union Square the other day I was happy to see that the tri-state crop had finally come in, and I thought I’d revisit the idea of asperges crues.

An Aussie looking for a new girlfriend or perhaps her liquid replacement. A young woman on crutches who won a trip to Paris on, I kid you not, The Price is Right. Her posse of so-Cal gal pals. A red-suited lady with a voice clearly cultivated in Manhattan. A cheerful, Brunello-loving couple from Colorado. A Japanese fashionista.

What do these people have in common? They were all at a recent Tour de France of Wine at O-Chateau, ostensibly to learn something about les vins de France. Did they retain anything from the two hour, six wine tasting? I’m doubtful.

Did they enjoy themselves? Oh yes.

What can I say about lunch at Pierre Gagnaire?

I could describe every one of the ten or so little amuses-bouches that were delivered to the table with detailed instructions. I could tell you about the bite of miniaturized ratatouille, the smoky little red pepper purée, the bite sized croquettes filled with tarragon cream that burst in my mouth, and that a thimble full of watercress soup with tender rabbit meat made me think some unlucky bunny got caught in the garden.

Eating is a daily necessity, on the list of things we do every day that we could collectively call “living”. But it isn’t necessarily part of the daily grind.