Paris Diaries


A Dr. Pepper heaven.
March 21, 2009, 12:00 am
Filed under: Food, Paris | Tags: , ,

Because it was another beautiful, warm day (at least in the sun), because we had had enough of the cold winter, and because we just had another talk about budgeting last night, this morning, we set out for a picnic on the vast esplanade in front of the Invalides.

Nez's homemade salsa anchored our delicious (and cheap) picnic meal.

Nez's homemade salsa anchored our delicious (and cheap) picnic meal.

With Nez’s long coat serving as a makeshift picnic blanket (Riot’s coat was keeping Nez warm), we plopped down on our own piece of ground and surveyed our domain, which stretched from the imposing Hôtel and its ensemble of bronze canons in the background to the distant Pont Alexandre III with it glittering golden statues spanning the river Seine.  Yes, there were hundreds of other sun worshipers out and about, reading a good book, taking in the UV rays, participating in one game or another, or disembarking from double-decker tour buses.  But, there were just two people – us – who came with homemade salsa (Nez’s, which tasted great even though we couldn’t find any cilantro at Champion last night), prosciutto and paté in plastic packages, a freshly baked baguette, caramel popcorns, a pistachio éclair, and – drum rolls, please – in glorious Technicolor, two cans of Dr. Pepper!

Now, this was heaven!  C’était le paradis!

Dr. Pepper:  Invented in America, canned in the UK, consumed in France.

Dr. Pepper: Invented in America, canned in the UK, consumed in France.

 

We stretched ourselves under a lazy sky and thought just that.  Then, we exclaimed that we were the luckiest people in the world and meant every word of it.  We had not have a drop of Dr. Pepper since the end of April, 2008.

“Hey, you can even play soccer with those guys over there,” Nez motioned her head in the direction of a group of young men clad in the usual array of replica jerseys of the current stars of the football world.  How nice of her, Riot thought in his head, but before he said anything Nez continued.  “They all run funny.”  She laughed.

Paris as one's own reading room.

Paris as one's own reading room.

Nez works and walks so hard she wore a hole into her socks.  (Actually, these are Riot's.  He usually goes without.)

Nez works and walks so hard she wore a hole into one of her socks. (Actually, these are Riot's. He usually goes without. It's called love.)

 

[As always, be sure to check out the rest of our Parisdise afterward for much, much more!]

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