But dinner was a good time as always. "Newcastle Guy" (is that the fake name we decided on, Alastair? Oh... crap...) served my beers in courses. There was an appetizer beer, a different main course beer, a different cheese plate beer... are you starting to see why we like these people?
Newcastle Guy's fiancée, "Quebec Hottie," cooked a wonderful dinner. We engaged in witty dinner banter that involved at least one "F*ck you," some discussion of male "trimmage," and at least one instance in which Newcastle Guy told Alex he needed to learn to behave like a proper human being. You know, normal stuff, just chatting the way people chat.
We took a taxi home. A taxi ride through Paris at night remains one of the best things ever.
Alex had a run-in with a grumpy Frenchie over the weekend. He took Lucien to a small park near our apartment and they built a beautiful sandcastle together in the sandbox. As they packed up to leave, a park guard approached them all huffy-like. He told Alex they had to put the sand back how it was before they arrived -- sandcastle demolished and sandbox returned to a compact, level state. The guard said Al had to do it because if Al didn't do it, the gardener was going to have to do it and the gardener is a very busy man.
Alex argued but eventually gave up. He requested a rake. The guard brought him a rake and Alex raked Lucien's beautiful sandcastle to the ground.
Lucien watched sadly and quietly. Al attempted to turn it into a lesson, the whole "you have to leave things the way you found them" thing, which is a lesson Lucien has yet to learn regarding his toys in the living room. Here's hoping the trauma of watching his meticulously crafted handiwork destroyed by his rake-wielding father finally drives the lesson home.
For the record, we've seen the following things at this park in the past, yet have never seen the park guard intervene:
1. A man pooping in the bushes.
2. A man half-naked on a park bench -- the bad half.
3. Drunk people passed out on benches.
4. General debauchery and lawlessness.
Alex and I went out for lunch Sunday afternoon. We went to Da Rosa, which I'd heard incredible things about, most impressively that Bradley Cooper was spotted eating there last year. If it's good enough for Bradley's mouth, it's good enough for mine I always say.
Bradley didn't steer me wrong. This is what I ate --
Actually that's horrible food porn. It looks like a bowl of dog food. I assure you it was not kibble -- it was pasta with foie gras and onion confit. Maybe it looks terrible but it tasted like what I imagine Bradley Cooper would taste like if he was wrapped in homemade pasta, foie gras and a sweet, sweet onion confit.
If you found that last thought a little weird, blame Alast -- I mean blame Newcastle Guy and Quebec Hottie. We should probably stop seeing them because everything goes to hell the next day. I feel sleepy.