buying a baguette in Paris, heir soir was the night.
I walked home alone with a smile on my face (because as much as I try and become French, I'm a smiley American) -- a smile worth quatre-vingt-dix centimes.
When I was stuffing lemons in the open cavity of my chicken it was quite a bit more of a tight fit than I'm used to--even the French chicken's are skinnier.
I didn't have any film left in my camera to take photos of this round of dinner--just imagine a quaint batch of carmel sauce in a little white saucer--but I am awaiting my first role of film to be processed and will upload some of my premiers meals.
-Bisous
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