My family treats the 'Art of French Cooking' the way some people treat rare religious artifacts. As a wee lad of oh say the age of six or so I picked up a piece of garlic and I haven't stopped mincing since. And so my eyes were opened to the harsh reality of kitchens it was a normality that about 15 minutes before dinner was ready my brothers battle cry of "YOU FUCKING IDIOT YOUR BURNING THE FUCKING LEMON GLAZE!! GET THE FUCK OUT!!" (think chef Ramsey but a lot more knives and crack) quickly followed by me running for cover which was quickly followed by a (thank god) not accurate sauce pan. One might see this as harsh treatment but honestly I'm a better man..er.... chef because of it. now whenever a zester takes off a bit of my finger i throw some salt on the place the tip of my thumb used to be and think of it as putting a little extra Leland in every meal, whenever i burn my legs via very hot sherry i light another cigarette and keep going. Ones thing true about the Davis family we might not have always had money, fame, or power, but theres always food on the table and an open door for friends and family.