I’m a Cojean addict. I like lunching at this clean little chain that makes good soup, salads and pressed sandwiches. I like going by myself and reading whatever French fashion or travel magazine is on hand and having my sandwich toasté and taking my little mid-day break.
But sometimes there is no time. And some days, like today, I crave protein rather than another sandwich. So today I picked up a smoked salmon quiche at one of the fabulous boulangeries on run Saint-Honoré and I ended up strolling down some side streets, eating my lunch. I hate doing this. I hate eating on the go; I hate navigating people and obstacles while also ingesting food as much as I hate exposing my food to the elements. It all makes me feel a little barbaric and crass. Yet sometimes I still do it, and today I got busted.
“You eeeet in zee street??” one of my colleagues sashayed up to me, face full of wonder.
“Oui, I know, it’s horrible.”
“Eeeet’s horeeeble!!” I looked down at my chocolate brown coat that was covered in flaky piecrust crumbs. Tres chic.
“Oui, je sais. Eeet’s horeeeble.”