The Carrots in Paris

So, I’m in Paris, France. I am cat sitting for my friend Palash at the moment (he is in Svalbard, which is a real place it turns out) and listening to the Delmore Brothers, who are good though I think they just play the same song over and over with different words.  It’s a good song, though, and if they didn’t do it for me I might put it on repeat. I am also eating a carrot.  I bought it at a vegetable store today, along with some haricots verts and some teeny-tiny mirabella plums.  “Belle belle mirabella,” said the cashier cherubically. I thought I was going to cook up those green beans in some schmancy home cooking, but instead I ate an apricot tart at a sidewalk cafe that was way out of my league.  The tart was AMAZING — flaky crust and raw, tart apricots covered with a sweet glaze and some nice whipped cream — and it came with free second hand smoke from at least five hip-looking people.

But now it is dark and I’m back in the apartment eating that carrot.  The Delmore Bro’s have not strayed. My feet keep reminding me I decided to walk all the way down the Seine to the Eiffel tower today.  I have some photos, but I forgot my camera-computer-connecter-cord and the replacement I bought turns out not to have the right nubs at the end after all.  So you’ll have to imagine it yourself.  Hint: I, too, have bangs, Jesslyn Shields.

And in case you were wondering, the carrot was pretty good.


2 thoughts on “The Carrots in Paris

  1. I Guess I’m Happier than Kathleen Dean Moore « thefriendlymoth

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