Sunday Story

Sidewalk Rotisserie, Rue de Rivoli, Paris – 26 Sept 2017

Yesterday, my food frugality was overridden by the need to finish my last, receipt intensive, tax return. Bought a rotisserie chicken and a tub of Cole Slaw. I rationalized, knowing the carcass would make more broth than it cost. But that’s not what this is about.

Post online communion with H&R Block, IRS and the North Carolina Dept of Revenue, I was completing a rare, early supper. And was transported to Paris, on the Rue de Rivoli, a side street from our vacation apt. on Rue Ferdinand Duval.

Being the most visited city on the planet, Parisians are mostly bi-lingual, especially in English. My required two years of a foreign language at the College of Charleston was French but my accomplishment in that language is pathetic. I’m okay with Metro Signs and Menus but conversation is an adventure. My sweetheart, beyond “Bon Jour” and “Merci” was illiterate. But the language of food is universal and she was extraordinarily fluent.

With great confidence, she would be out the apt. door, down 56 steps ( Floors in Paris start at 0 instead of 1, so the 3rd floor is what Americans would call the 4th) and off in the early afternoon, before the chickens and the gloriously basted potatoes underneath were sold out. And it was wonderful to have the windows open, at table. It felt like home