The ratatouille, made from a recipe of France's grandmother, was superb. But the raspberry and rose-petal sorbet at the end, from Berthillon, was worth killing for. You may want to look into making arrangements for having it shipped weekly on dry ice to your home.
Clearly, France and Pascal are thriving on this diet of nectar from the gods
Maybe I should have scarfed down a little more, because today I am suffering from a nasty cold, which is preventing me from attending Gabriella's birthday party this evening. I am, as the French would say, desolated.
I also know exactly which vile inconsiderate metro passenger gave me this cold on Friday, and if I ever see you again, Madame Sniffly, my vengeance shall be terrible indeed.
There is a much longer post in the works, all about my exciting week with the legal eagles, but its completion will have to wait until I am healthier.
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