We went to Alan's brother's friend's flat in Montmartre where we were the youngest people -- but definitely not the coolest. There were artists (a lady that was currently exhibiting in both Berlin and Madrid), filmmakers (people who worked on Amelie, because that was my only point of reference French film I could think of), chefs (sous-chef to Chef Ramsay) and other assorted artistes. The sous-chef to Ramsay made me try a dessert he concocted:A layering of blue cheese, dried apricot and a single grape. I don't think he was happy when I gagged and said I had to spit it out. I don't think the host was happy that I ran to the kitchen and spit out food in her garbage. She asked if I was American. But that "dessert" was no dessert. It was sous-chef trickery!
We found there was free champagne aplenty and I became the substitute DJ because a 30+ English lady said the music was terrible and I looked like I would choose some good stuff.
Boy, did she know me or what? I had everyone doing the Cotton-Eye Joe right through till 4 in the morning.
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