When I was in my early 20s, my relationship with food took a huge somersault. I had traveled to France with a bluegrass band, and as such was subject to French hospitality in a way I had not experienced in earlier trips. First of all was the tradition of apéritif. Before every meal (with the exception of breakfast, or petit déjeuner), or upon the arrival of any guest, bottles are brought forth, and several options for increasing natural thirst: thick rounds of saucisson (cured sausages), dishes of briny olives, crispy chips, and sometimes a savory dish drawn fresh from the oven, to make you wish you were staying for weeks or months, or maybe a lifetime.

One family, with whom I actually did stay two weeks, at the end of a month-long tour that included concerts on a river boat, in a Roman

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