Citronella remained a weakness of Karl's. It was a splendid day in May of 2000 when he first entered this power restaurant of choice for congressional Republicans on the Capitol end of Pennsylvania Avenue. The overall ambience was of an exclusive dinner club from the 1930s with a Provençal color scheme of mustard yellow and raspberry red, a breathtaking wine cellar behind glass, and views of the open kitchen from the dining room.

When introduced to the ebullient chef/owner Michel Ricard, he mischievously asked if Democrats were served, and pointed to a large quantities of meat spitted upon a huge rotisserie being smoke-dried over a smoldering fire. "Why, certainly," Michel loudly proclaimed and a few minutes later the maître de emerged from the bustling kitchen to present Karl with a dish consisting of heaping portions of meat, distinctly of human origin, served over baby arugula and a young herb salad. The presentation was a work of art, with swirls of aromatic sauce bathing the flesh. It was, Karl was assured, a favorite of Citronella's regular patrons and surely enough, he found it delicious and became a regular himself.

Now, as he stared blankly at the charred remains on his plate, drifting lazily between memory and another bottle of Michel's 1990 Figeac St. Emilion, it slowly began to dawn on Karl that all of this would soon be over...