We'd made reservations at Robuchon for Grace's last dinner in Paris weeks ago. One last chance to blow the remaining Catering Course budget – to get seriously fucked up and go out on a blaze of glorious puny food and Champagne.
But no go – Grace was sick. She'd just caught the ugly bug that I'd been fighting for over a month. We waited it out down to the wire – and then cancelled our reservations. Au revoir Robuchon.
So for Grace's last dinner in Paris, I reheated some leftover spicy chicken curry – and made that gorgeous, glistening sticky rice.
And we agreed that given the circumstances, it was more soul-satisfying than any of the fine-dining we'd done.
Maybe Herve This was right.
