Saturday was my last day in Paris/Europe before my flight home, and I was determined to make the most of it.

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Happily, it wasn’t long before I enjoyed an expedient purging of the metaphoric taste of that cheek-sucking punk kid from my palate.

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Sometimes, it’s hard to know what is your better judgement kicking in, and what is unhealthy babying of your own stick-in-the-mud proclivities.

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The next day it was time to make room in the tummy, because I had my mind set on making pilgrimages to the places that, for me — epitomize / embody / distill into gorgeous, edible tableaux — the epicurean heights Paris can attain.

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so, I made a reservation yesterday to have a nice lunch — my first meal out in Paris.  The place, Le Reminet, is much lauded on message boards for the hopelessly food-obsessed at not only a sublime restaurant, but a ridiculously good deal for lunch.  And, oh my god, was it ever.

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Well, we’re back to non-chronological order, but tough – I challenge anyone to be marinating in Paris’ multitude of stinky and aesthetic charms and be able to think of anything, anyPLACE else.

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