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.
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