Even early in the 1980s we began to observe that the stops on our European tours appeared to be booked around the location of Michelin-rated restaurants. Query why we were playing only one night in Marseille but, say, three nights in Lyon, and Paul wouldn’t even answer the question. “By the way, have you met my friend Paul Bocuse, the greatest chef in France, if not the world?” Paul staring at us as if we were the swine he was buying pearls for. “If only,” the look on his face says, “I hadn’t left the film business.”
