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There was never a more unlikely source for a recipe than my friend Paul. The first time I met this guy, I wanted to drop-kick him into the Seine. The suede elbow patches on his tweed jacket, his moleskin pants, and the tiny round glasses slipping down his nose all belied the cracked and unhinged apartment door where he greeted me : Paul had just been paid a visit by the huissier, or repo-man.