I once had the fortune of being in the city of my childhood dreams, Paris, because of my work. It was even more beautiful than I had imagined it to be that I had to pinch myself to check if I was indeed there. Only when I bit into that hotdog I bought at a kiosk across the Eiffel while gazing at it in all its splendor, did my senses tell me I was there--specifically my sense of taste. I hadn't realized the vendor put the entire squeeze bottle of mustard in my sandwich that my eyes began to well. In hindsight, I hope the people who saw me with tears in my eyes, saw me as an overly emotional romantic rather than an overly idiotic tourist. The worst part was I couldn't spit the food out. Pride ba. And of course, I didn't want to ruin the moment.
I try to recall this happy memory when I'm not particularly very happy, like today. Maybe because I'm still a bit sick. Maybe because I need a short break. Maybe because I'm being hormonal. I don't know. The kid has been behaving well, so it can't be from that. I guess it's just one of those days.
Then just a couple of days back, this other blog I follow called Gastrochic, posted something about the Amalfi coast. What to eat, what to wear, what not to wear. I love that blog. It made me want to visit the Amalfi coast too one day, maybe bump into David Rocco (hopefully without the wife huh). Who in the world doesn't dream of escaping somewhere else even just for a bit during days like this?
I promised myself I'm going back to Paris in 2012. Perhaps cross over to Italy too? Who knows? But until then, it will just be this Franco-Italian lunch.
À bientôt, mes amis!