For everyone's information, a long time ago, Jill and I turned up at a cabin on Moosehead Lake with two Malamutes, a frying pan, some brown rice and spices, and fishing tackle. We caught nothing, and wound up in an improbable restaurant called Ye Olde New England Stewpot. There we met a chef named Breton, had some of the best meals of our lives, and the rest is literary history. At this writing I know nothing of the life of Breton's daughter Carole, but I plan to read the book...it's a neat family. By the way, it was on that trip I was putting gas in my car, and a moose brushed past me, at a gas station! In the middle of town! "A moose! A moose just walked through!" I shouted. The old Mainer gas station guy said, "Drat. When they come into town this early in the fall, it means a fierce winter."