Cassoulet

My brother's wife makes cassoulet that is to die for. She soaks her own beans, makes her own sausage from scratch, prepares all the other meats and ingredients, and presents us, when we are lucky enough to wheedle her into that much work, with a simply ambrosial dinner. I wondered if cassoulet in France could measure up.

The answer is, not quite. However, the cassoulet I enjoyed at the Auberge du Jarente, a Basque restaurant in the Marais section of Paris, was rich with sausage, beans, duck and pork and was very, very good. Both times I have enjoyed this tiny restaurant, the food has been excellent and the friendly patrons even more fun than the victuals.

The first time we ate there, two years ago, the lunch we ordered did not come with wine and we didn't think to order any - incroyable! to the two dapper French gentlemen seated at the next table. They struck up a conversation and remarked upon the lack of wine, insisting that we share their bottle! Who says the French are unfriendly? It was a lovely wine, too - Franco-American relations took a good turn that day.

This time, even though we had ordered wine, we met another couple from the Bay Area as well as a lovely family of Parisians who complemented us on our choice of domicile, saying that they had visited San Francisco and loved it. They complimented San Francisco on its fine food, high praise indeed from Parisians!

We toasted my sister-in-law as we enjoyed our cassoulet - nearly as good as hers and the bonhomie gave it just the right feeling.