Turns out Pigtails' general philosophy of 'if there's a line, it must be good', since we started off with some solid sandwiches for lunch. Nothing to write home about, of course, but as Pavel says, the key to a good sandwich is to start with good bread. And stars and garters, do the French know their bread.
They sadly don't know their coffee. But that's surmountable. Sad, but surmountable.
I've spent the rest of the day getting to know the street I'm staying on and the little nooks and crannies that surround it. Supermarket two doors down, wine shop one. (Though to be honest, I'll probably be rocking the 4euro bottles of Beaujolais-Villages at Carrefour. Seriously, this shit runs me $15-30 stateside. LOCAL WINE MOTHERFUCKERS) Open-air veggie market across the street from a world-class boulangerie, where 1.30euro nets me a crusty baguette that's so tender on the inside. And let's not forget the full-scale butcher shop around the corner.
This is exactly what I was looking for in a vacation. Past the stumbling blocks of language barriers and figuring out how to get my credit card to work, I'm riding high on the knowledge that I've got new toys to play with and a kitchen to play with them in.
Nightlife? That's what my friends are for. Me, I've got a couple of chicken legs to braise in red wine with endive and shallots. Pardonnez-moi.
No comments:
Post a Comment