Once upon a time (what seems like an eternity ago), I spent part of a summer in France as an exchange student, living with a French family in Chonas-L'Amballan, a tiny town in the countryside outside Lyon. My host family took me to visit Alsace, with its picturesqe towns and beautiful Strasbourg cathedral. We went camping along the Rhône River, and attended a jazz concert in Lyon. My host mom, Marthe, was an excellent and frequent cook who introduced me to Raclette, among other delicious dishes. I tagged along as my host father, Romi, gathered honey from the family's bees, and again when he went to buy fresh, homemade goat cheese from the elderly woman who lived on a neighboring farm. Sitting outside at the family's wooden table under the speckled shade of an arbor, we enjoyed a dessert of soft chèvre drizzled with that amazing honey, eaten with a spoon and served with apricots Marthe had picked earlier that day. A teenager at the time, I was too immature to fully appreciate the impact these experiences were having on me, yet they would form the basis of a life-long love of food and travel. The people, the countryside, the meals shared with my host family and friends... everything about the France of my youth was beautiful, and I've always wanted to return.