I can’t say where we were or why we were there, but Carol G and I had the opportunity to dine at a hoighty-toighty eighth arrondisement restaurant this week, and, if nothing else, it was comical.
We were background diners for the recording of a TV show; a reality show in which young’uns are getting trained to be proper servers. Said servers whom were allegedly more than halfway through their apprenticeship.
But they were so abominable, they were unwittingly our afternoon entertainment. (I can’t wait to see the episode and will share its coordinates then.)
The food was certainly nothing to write home about. But the retractable roof and good company made up for it.
Carol’s the heart and talent of Paris Breakfasts. She has created the kind of life that I am angling for: doing what you love (art, writing), and living where you love (NY), but making it a point of traveling to and being part of the world that is simply, inexplicably part of who you are (pastries in Paris).
We should all be so lucky…