Within the last two weeks, I have had food poisoning twice.
Though it probably has more to do with eating the pieds d'agneau Anthony Bourdain recommended, there is also the slightest chance that it may be due my extra-ordinary level of pastry consumption. Really, I don't even think that Marie Antoinette could rival me in the sheer number of croissants, macarons, and I-don't-know-what-it-is-but-I'll-have-that-sticky-colorful-thing-right-there-please's that I eat on a daily basis.
Naturally such a lifestyle, which I have resolutely decided to justify as "fieldwork", needs to be paired with a night of re-watching Marie Antoinette, and a day trip to Versaille.
Versaille in winter is so very different from the frosting-colored
palate of Sofia Coppola's film. The interior of the palace was drearily
lit, and outside, as in the rest of the of the jardins around
Paris, the trees stood naked, and the flowerbeds had all been
overturned. If the deciduous skeletons weren't eery enough, the
garden's statuary had been tarped too, so all you could see were the
outline of human figures frozen atop their marble pyres.
Winter, I think, is not Paris's most flattering season. Instead, winter is the season of sweaters, of hot mugs of tea, and of books.
Tomorrow I'm off to my favorite place in the world, where it's quite alright to stay bundled up inside all day reading, and play endless rounds of Bananagrams. Shakespeare & Company will once again be my home for the next weeks and I couldn't be happier. :)
