Remember when cameras posted the date in the corner? Remember how nobody knew how to change the date when it was wrong? Remember that time I went to France and as a result of a camera debacle was forced to use one of these contraptions with the constantly wrong date, while eating the greatest ice cream of my lifetime?
I do. But mainly because it was two days ago.
I have been trolling a different set of streets for the past few days. Less freeway, more fromage.
I have been here:
I stood in the long shadow of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of a GreenGrassBlueSky day, and realized I was hungry.
In L.A. when this happens, I usually track down a food truck and have at it. But on this day, in Paris, I sought out a very specific cassoulet that I had read about. It takes two days to make, and you eat it at a table blessed with red and white cloth napkins that make you feel like a real live girl. A lady, even.
