re not trusting a skinny cook, a favorite tiny restaurant in Paris served outrageously outre food, the kind of plates where I’d try my best to divine what and how I was eating. I called it “herb and acid” food, with wild and wonderful combinations of fresh herbs and citrus, wine or vinegars. I read a blog comment where a diner said that he was gobsmacked by the lack of fats in this food until he noticed the chef who was rail thin. For him, a problem, while I was entranced by his sense of taste and adventure.
