Menu Eleven

How do you think about a meal? For me, much depends on the weather. A few years ago, I was in Paris during a record heatwave. By eight in the morning, it was already 90 degrees; even at midnight, the sidewalks were steaming. There was no end in sight. I woke one morning from a troubled sleep somewhat perversely craving fish tacos and margaritas.

I know it was a little nutty, like being in Mexico and longing for Champagne and blini, but my heart was set on it. So, first thing, I called around and invited friends for a taco fiesta after sundown. When they asked what to bring, I replied, “Cold beer. And lots of ice.” Of course, finding the ingredients for tacos in Paris presented a bit of a problem. Fortunately I knew a shop that imported handmade tortillas from Mexico: expensive, but I was in it now. I had to have them. I found a big tailpiece of white-fleshed fish and begged a bag of ice so I could get it home still fresh. I knew I could find cilantro and chiles at the Asian grocery.