|Oui, s'il vous plaît.|
Missing France because of crepes is honestly just me being lazy. While I was abroad, I learned how to make a mean crepe for breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner, so if the urge ever strikes me with, well... urgency, I can whip up a batch and find some Nutella and some bananas. But I also enjoy the easy availability of them being sold on every street corner, and the valiant crepe-vendor in Vieux Lyon who was always outside selling his wares, no matter if it was raining or snowing, or even midnight, which is drastically late hours for food in French culture. I miss jolly, mustached Frenchmen trying to guess if I want apricot preserves or something more drastic en flambé, with his predictions based on my outfit. (Apparently something about my scarf causes me to resemble an apricot kind of girl.)
|A delicious but tragically over-priced crepe by a cafe outside Notre Dame in Paris.|
Although crepes can sometimes cost far more than they should, whether they're stuffed with ham and cheese or some fresh whipped chantilly, another wonderful thing about France is that if you go to a cafe and eat one by yourself, you're not the social leper you might be branded in America. In France, loners eat at cafes all the time, reading, thinking, or possibly even blogging. Rather than seeming solitary, they come off more as artistic, perhaps planning their next novel or composing a concerto, or at the very least brooding over some romance.
I wish I had a glass of Côtes du Rhône, a book, and a huge crepe on my plate, and a great view on the other side of my cafe window, where people could walk by and I could callously judge them based on their shoes. The caliber of people-watching here is just not the same. Perhaps that should be Why I Miss France #5?