Breakfast at Paul

I have always believed that the perfect farewell to the weekend is a truly splendid breakfast. At Paul Patisserie et Boulangerie, we usually get a pain au chocolat fresh from the oven and a cup of hot chocolate in which to soak it, but when paired with a sugary waffle drizzled with chocolate and topped with whipped cream, we find that a big pot of tea, light and fruity, does the trick. This morning when we went for breakfast, the tarte au fraises were still being assembled in the kitchen. We usually share one for dessert, but perhaps today we came in too early. Behind the counter a mini army of chefs dressed in their immaculate white were just very carefully placing delicate slivers of strawberries, fresh and vibrant in color, inside perfectly shaped pastry cups. We bought a bag of mini croissants instead. Next Sunday, next Sunday.

Next weekend, too, will be spent at the French Film Festival where we intend to watch six movies in all. I cannot, cannot wait. We are going to make a grand time of it-- a French brunch, of course, and macarons for the movie house. How fortunate I am to have a man who adores doing these things with me!

Saturday morning

This morning is filled with pale pink roses from Cholo, Henry James' compelling book on social climbing lovers, the soundtrack to "Midnight in Paris," and lots of warm sunshine. It was a good move, looking forward to the weekend.

So far, life

 

I have been keeping a journal for several weeks now that for a while I thought that updating this blog has become redundant, but I suppose there is really nothing like putting yourself out there in the world wide web and knowing that someone, somewhere out there, is listening. So here I am again.

My life in Instagram this past week: