Sunday, November 22

A blah day...

made better by a trip to WH Smith.  Got the New Yorker's Book of Food and Drink, Foreign Tongues, and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society.   New books are always a good antidote to whatever ails you.

Then went out for dinner to a fondue place in Montmartre that serves wine out of baby bottles.  Yes, it's a bit of a tourist trap,  but it was more fun than expected.   I had last been there when I was a teenager, believe it or not, and it hadn't changed a bit.  Even the waiter was the same.  He used to be a metal worker and started working there 21 years ago, is retiring at the end of the year.  Crusty and irreverent and funny and intolerant as only an old-time Parisian waiter can be.  Plus, I scored a phone number.  I've still got it baby, whatever "it" is. 

1 comment:

  1. I love, love the sense of continuity you get when you go back to a place and it hasn't changed. Sounds like it was a wonderful evening.