Down and Out in Paris and London

Although I am feeling neither down nor out, Orwell's (1933) book about poverty in Paris and London is befitting of my current situation. I equate the next chapter of this blog to a cross between Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Eat, Pray, Love...

"I shall never again think that all tramps are drunken scoundrels, nor expect a beggar to be grateful when I give him a penny, nor be surprised if men out of work lack energy, nor subscribe to the Salvation Army, nor pawn my clothes, nor refuse a handbill, nor enjoy a meal at a smart restaurant. That is a beginning."
Down and Out in Paris and London p. 216

I'm not Paris bound (at least not yet, that story will come later) but rather to the south of France, to a tiny village at the base of the French Alps southeast of Lyon.

Just as Orwell slaved away in the dark corners of Paris' culinary underworld so too will I, if you call assisting a chef at a high-end cooking school the "underworld" of French cuisine. Armed with my camera and a hunger for adventure I continue along this nomadic journey into the unknown. Rest assure my fellow reader(s) I will pass along a tale or two whenever internet access permits.

Interested to find out what will come of this gig?
That makes two of us.