Pre prandial Boulevardiers (more than, ahem, one greedy round) at Midfield Wine Bar & Tavern expertly mixed by Carter. Buzzy atmosphere. Great music...
We headed off, thereafter, to Le Bar Itin pour diner...
And then it was time for dessert. Hmm. Bless me Father, for I have sinned. And as mah wee Scottish granny wid gurgle: “Haud ma heels...”
Now. Unless you, like we, are slaves to the perfect Creme Caramel - and a galactic search for this particular dessert heaven variant - you mightn’t see the joy, herein. Colin selected Tarte Tartin. Just the right level of 'chew'. Apples just 'so'. And we wept. They oozed. Dinner at @LeBaratin Perfect bliss. And then home.
This morning, clothes stacked neatly on the dresser, something is awry. Something is missing. A shoe. We've searched high and low, and we've even asked our concierge if a wayward hoof has been located in any of our condo's common areas. No sign. Not a jot. Nada. Nowt. #çinderella
But we have bigger poisson to fry. Epic malaise.
QUIETLY please. Holy cra*p: heids nippin'. As mah wee Scottish granny wid cackle: "Mix grape an' grain an' ye deserve the PAIN." Aye, she's a sage auld owl. The Boulevardiers were indeed deelish. And the wine somewhat palatable for a 2017 Cab. But the resultant mangled nappers. NEVER again...
Can you guess which one of us lost the chaussure...?
Tidings, C&J xx