When I was in the seventh grade I would dream on who would one day love me. Purely dreaming with no opportunity to fall in love with flesh and bone got me nowhere. You need to smell the skin and see the soul. Same with menu planning. I am sitting in my New York apartment trying to taste the food I need to make for Bourgueil. Vanishes before I can even make out the shape of it. I can type out beouf, but we may have to sear scallops if I can’t help myself on the Tuesday, when the market comes to town and there they are in front of me, all sweetness and fresh salt water and perfectly ridged shells. Then there will be nothing to do but buy the lot of them along with lemons, tomatoes, olive oil and crusty bread.