New York has been on my mind a lot lately. Yesterday’s significance encouraged it, in a quietly solemn way, but my thoughts of affection, pride, and hope have not ended there. There really is no place like home. And as Paris abruptly changes from summer into fall, I can’t help but wish I could stroll by Central Park's colorful trees, sip a pumpkin beer at happy hour, take a train Upstate to pick apples, enjoy cider and an orchard donut. I alluded to this last year, but autumn in the City of Lights is pretty anticlimactic.
we were sharing an apartment in Manhattan, and six days ago, she emailed me with a last-minute request: “If it wouldn't be too insane and inconvenient could I crash with you for Saturday and Sunday?” I couldn’t have been happier or more excited. “Of course!” I replied with enthusiasm. She was on her way to Brussels for work.
my favorite granola bars, pancake mix, real maple syrup, chocolate chip cookies, vegan mayonnaise, and her new favorite veggie snack. I'm going to eat (read: munch and brunch) so freaking well in these next few weeks. I promised to bake for my French co-workers, too.
en terrasse, toasting with our glasses of Sancerre as we recounted the past few months and shared a goat cheese appetizer. Couples and friends, young and old, were scattered at tables around us. We had front row seats to performances at an unexpected street fair. It felt so wonderfully “French.” For the record, she did eventually end with coffee. Then an espresso from KB Café Shop.
friends both near and far. La chance, I tell ya. I'll be back soon with the rest of our weekend.