Lupa drank his whole glass at one swill, just as he had the day before at La Couronne, and yet conveyed the impression that he was savoring every drop. Marcel and I drank more slowly but with no less enjoyment. Lupa put down his glass and looked at me.

“Remarkable.”

“It pleases you?”

“There are certain advantages to being raised a rich man, eh?” said Marcel. “Certain opportunities to develop talents which otherwise would be buried under the mundane cares of survival.” He looked at Lupa, smiling. “He constantly makes me envious. Such beer, such a house, such a chef…”

“Such beer,” Lupa repeated, leaning back with his eyes closed.

I poured him another glass. For the next quarter of an hour we sat quietly enjoying the day, the beer, and… was it the company or the suspense? It seemed to me that we were all waiting for another to be the first to speak. Finally, I ventured cautiously, “Monsieur Lupa, what brings you here to Valence? Could you not accomplish your goals elsewhere, in a larger city?”

He looked at me quizzically, the touch of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“What goals are those?” he asked.

“Oh, the usual for a young chef. Apprenticeship in a large hotel, assistantship to a master-”

But he cut me off. “A man who follows the usual routes obtains the usual results. Like so many other endeavors, cuisine is both an art and a skill. Of course, the French scoff at such an idea-meaning no offense to you, sir. Too often the path to excellence at a skill is a limiting experience, until the mind, finally, is trained to abhor innovation. And, beyond a certain mastery of skills, innovation is what lets a chef stand alone.”