On a fine (also read: FUCKING COLD) Paris night quite a while back, Squash, Buckeye and AAAH (not only an acronym for African American Art History, but also an attestation of 'aaahhhh she's so hot') and I mange-ed at a lovely salon de thé, where the veggie soup was warm, the vanilla tea was pure soul balm, and we very nearly missed the English-menu offering of an apple strudel. With mushrooms.
Oh yes, you heard me right: Apple strudel with mushrooms. And it was not a joke! I teased the waiter that it was a prank they played on Americans, since this dessert entry was missing from the French version of the menu. He assured us that it was no laughing matter (even though he could barely get a word in edgewise between my maniacal cackles) and brought us a slice on the house.
Delicious? Well, I guess it was interesting. Born Again Mikey decided it wasn't quite an *EPIC FAIL*, just kinda *WTF...woulda been better with raisins*... and moved on to more palatable mouthfuls of sugary espresso.
A few weeks later, just as a random side note, I rode my first Velib', and realized that there was a good reason I hadn't been on a bike since my last one burned up in an explosion (long story) about 8 years ago.
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my biiiiiiiike
Miraculously, my bike riding skillz held up even through the Parisian roundabouts. Thank the goddess there's no action photos of my white knuckles and bug-covered teeth.
That night Madame made tea and we sat down for my first viewing of Bridges of Madison County. Clint Eastwood doesn't sound quite the same as a breathy, trying-to-make-my-voice-low-and-manly-like-the-real-Clint-Eastwood Frenchy, but hey, I understood an entire movie en français! woohoo!
And then, in the wee sma's* of another surreal Parisian day, I returned to my formerly-known-as-nutella-glass full of cognac and ruminated on the foregone conclusion that tonight the wine wins out over the shower. Again.
*Before you scream out PANDA SAYS NO, think on this: It should read "wee small hours" and thus the apostrophe replaces the "ll hour." Plus it just looks better with an apostrophe, and you might not even know what the hell I'm talking about if I just said "wee smas." Gotta keep it real for my plebes.