I scored a cheap Cotes du Rhone wine at a Hayward Safeway store this morning before work. With the tangy, tannin bouquet and a swirled half-mouthful, I was back in Paris, seated at a sturdy outdoor table at an affordable restaurant with my wife. An intoxicating wave of nostalgia, consisting of escargots, garlic, butter, bread, duck, and cobblestones flooded through me, and I was back in Paris.
I haven't even gotten to the cheese yet. Gonna be a good night.
Good weekend.
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It was a productive weekend. What on earth do I mean by that? I mean, I use
that word: “productive”–it sounds like I worked. But I didn’t. It was a
“good” ...
4 hours ago