Twenty-three hours after returning home from the U.S., we loaded up our van for a trip to France where I spent the weekend cooking for 30 young adults. Being on my feet all day was probably the best remedy for jet lag. So instead of resting Saturday afternoon while my pizza dough was rising, I went for a run. No locals were around to point me in the right direction, but I stumbled on a decent route. After taking the overpass to the other side of the freeway, I found a quiet country lane that led up to a neighboring village. I retraced my steps and was back in plenty of time to get the pizzas ready for dinner. Now I have a nice 8 kilometer run mapped out for the next time I'm asked to cook at a retreat in Saint Albain.

Gotta run...

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