It was late summer, fall was approaching. You could tell from the bushels of sweet, crisp, apples for sale in the Eastern Market (stacks of them in the same formation they were a hundred years ago). We meet on the bustling street corner in front of Cost Plus wine shop, our learning kitchen perched above us. The chefs (fifteen to sixty year olds, facing a range of economic, psychological, and physical disabilities) descend from the van, led by Marcel. Who -with a beaming smile- walks up to my dad and I to tell us how he set his kitchen alight last night, while trying to fry French fries. It is...