One day pre-Covid I was waiting for the sole meuniére at Petit Trois in Los Angeles, sipping on a Hemingway Daiquiri like someone who would never have to wear a mask for a variety of reasons, when I noticed a tattoo on the chef’s arm. It said, “Sans Arme, Ni Haine, Ni Violence.” I asked what it meant. What he told me sounds like this song, the freshness…
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