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am regretful to warn you in this way when you have the culinary delights in Lyon awaiting you, but in this situation you would be wise to—”
    “Yes, yes,” I agreed, not much worried because the only people in Lyon who knew us were now out of town. “Thank you for your concern.” I finished my Crousillant aux Framboises without a qualm. After all, I doubted that the inspector or the doctor would have any interest in poisoning me.
    Tomato Soup with Ginger and Shrimp
    • In a heavy saucepan over medium heat, sauté 2 large diced yellow onions in ¼ cup olive oil. Add 1 tablespoon finely diced orange zest and 20 small ripe tomatoes, quartered. Stir occasionally for about 20 minutes.
    • Puree soup in food processor and strain through medium mesh sieve placed over large, clean saucepan. Discard peels and seeds.
    • Peel and cut into strings 6 tablespoons fresh ginger and add to soup. Reheat over medium-low heat, add ¼ pound of tiny cooked shrimp, and season with salt and pepper.
    • Add ½ to 1 cup heavy or light cream to taste. Season again and serve.
    Carolyn Blue,
    “Have Fork, Will Travel,”
    Minneapolis Post

7
    Resurrection

Jason
    Most experts advise the jet-lagged traveler to stay up until bedtime in the country of destination for a faster adjustment to the new time zone, but my wife prefers to fall directly into bed, sleep until dinnertime, eat, and get a full night’s sleep. I’m always amazed that it works for her, but she is a very grumpy companion if forced to stay up until bedtime on the first day in Europe. We’ve tried that.
    So I expected her to be rested when I called about the welcome dinner planned by the chairman. I’d have returned to get her, but I’d stayed too long talking science with new colleagues since the man I had specifically gone to see, in the unexpected absence of Adrien Guillot, hadn’t been there. “It’s Jason,” I said into the chairman’s telephone. “We’re invited to dinner at a restaurant highly recommended for its local dishes. I knew you wouldn’t want to miss that, sweetheart. Did you have a good sleep?”
    “Don’t ask,” she muttered.
    So I didn’t. “Look, could you get dressed and meet us over here? It’s an easy trip from the Perrache Station. I’ll give you—”
    “You want me to go by myself? On the train? During rush hour? I’ll get lost and end up in Toulouse, maybe even Spain.”
    I laughed at the idea that Carolyn would end up in Toulouse, which is quite some distance from Lyon.
    “It’s not funny, Jason. I’m tired and upset and—well, maybe I should just stay here.”
    “Sweetheart, we’re the guests of honor. If you’re worried about getting lost, you’d better take a cab.” God knows what that will cost , I thought. “You’ll need to change dollars for francs at the hotel. And you might as well go straight to the restaurant. Say at seven-thirty.” While Carolyn looked for pen and paper, I consulted the chairman, who estimated the length of the cab ride and suggested that she meet us at eight instead of seven-thirty.
    “Your wife will wish enough time for all the necessary feminine preparations before a night out in Lyon,” he said rather pompously.
    “Dress up,” I advised when she got back on the line. Then I told her the name of the restaurant, and she wanted me to spell it. French spelling is not my forte, but I made a stab at it and was quickly relieved of the telephone by the chair, Professor Laurent, who introduced himself to “dear Madam Blue,” and proceeded to dictate the name and address, a lengthy process because the French pronounce the letters differently, and many letters required whole conversations to convey.
    The chairman seemed irritated by the end of the process, so I could imagine how Carolyn was feeling. Not the best beginning for the evening , I thought with misgivings as I took the phone back to say good-bye.
    “Who in the world was that?” she asked. “He’s almost as bad as the woman down