Last night, a couple of friends came over with an abundance of chanterelles. We sauteed them in garlic and white wine, laid them in beds of arugula, and tucked them into crepes dressed with tarragon cream. And then we drank two bottles of wine and contemplated holding a two-day-long bourbon-tasting interspersed with trips to Shedd and the Oriental Institute. Lately, things have been somewhat unreal and utterly perfect.
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