Holy *#!??@$+*

Another post so soon, and I haven't been talking a lot about my food. But I have to go off... I cannot contain myself. Tears came to my eyes as I ate and I thought of Erin when she cried the first time she tried foie gras here in Paris.

But I had something I love ordering anywhere, a niçoise salad. It was a religious experience. The butter lettuce was like sinking my teeth into the most delicate parchment, the tuna was like cake--sweet and soft. The potatoes tasted like golden sunshine and the peppers sparkled and burst, simply burst with fresh. Seriously though, the green beans were what brought tears to my eyes. A legitimate twinge at the corners if my eyes, me! who never leaks (unless it is something so consuming as my sister's wedding of course!). The beans were only blanched but they melted on my tongue, not unlike butter... But more so like meringue but made with cream, not egg white. And the anchovies! They were salty and not stinky at all... More like love poems from the sea.

Okay, okay... But still! Can you blame me? I'm in Paris, a place I didn't think I'd be so soon. There's coffee on every corner and a bookstore every two. And wine! My plan tonight is to find the Rue de la Huchette from -Hopscotch- yes, Erin, I'll see it. It comes from a passage in the novel by Julio Cortazar: (paraphrased or pretty close) Yes, but who will cure us of the dull fire, the colorless fire that runs along the Rue de la Huchette at night fall?

And so, enraptured, I go into the Parisian evening.
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