I believe in the healing power of food. No great spark of revelation there. After all, I did graduate at the top of my class from culinary school. Okay, not the tippity-top but in the top three--you should've seen my final exam--we blew the budget on wine and enough foie gras to make a glutton sweat fat for a year. Would've made the top slot at graduation if chef didn't have it in for me, that French hardass. I think he caught me and some of the other guys in checks and clogs checking out his wife when she wore this---well, let's just days the outfit was breathtaking. Those boots were not just made for walking, if you catch my shimmy.When writing these days the fuel for me is simple. What I typically power up with is coffee and good French bread. Strong bitter tea is a good substitute for the coffee but only if it's so bitter the back of my throat feels like its been scraped with a golf shoe. Somehow strong coffee and bread combo (the classic French breakfast staple) just powers me through almost any reluctance to hit the keyboard. Not too much coffee that I become snappy and irritable. Anyway, just more blog b.s. from this jerk as I'm waiting for the coffee to brew.