Summary: A few years ago — I’m not sure when, because I remember it like it was yesterday — I was having dinner with Madeleine Kamman at a popular restaurant in San Francisco. The French-born Kamman ordered the roast chicken. When it arrived, she brushed back her white hair, looked down at the plate then focused her piercing blue eyes on the server: “A chicken breast?” she asked incredulously. “I’d like a thigh.
