Sunday, November 23, 2008

Best. Sandwich. Ever.

So I haven't made it to the Picasso exhibit yet. A two hour line is just unacceptable. I tried making friends with the guard, sneaking in the back door, joining a German tour group who already had no avail. At some point soon I'll give in, but not yet. Also, I refuse to visit any more museums until Parsons gives me my student card that they owe me, which should give me free entrance or at least un tarif reduit to most places.

So instead, I spend my time hanging around the crepe guy at the March√© des Enfants Rouges. He's about 60, and says things that are probably quite vulgar (I haven't mastered French slang yet, still working on verb conjugations). There is always a massive line in front of his little kiosque, but I don't mind waiting because something interesting always happens. Like yesterday, this little French toddler became obsessed with my leg, and stood there stroking it for about 10 minutes. Its parents and the entire line behind us were on the floor laughing. 

Finally, when I get to the front of the line, gourmet miracles occur. Yesterday he made me a sandwich that made everyone else in line order what I was having. It consisted of lettuce, avocats, tomatoes, caramelized onions, fresh rosemary, mint?, some other spices from an unmarked bottle, chevre, mushrooms, carrots, olive oil, honey, and lime...and somehow all of this fit into a freshly made crepe. Then he gave me a lesson on how to make sure nothing falls out. Then he gave me a gift of some sort of delicious bread wrapped around walnuts and something mysterious. 

I'm in love. 

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