“Twelfth Night tells the story of identical twins, Viola and Sebastian...”
Courtesy of a Product Description of Twelfth Night on Amazon.com. Someone needs to go back and review the basics of sex education AND reread the play.
Today it is my turn to miss work, due to the flu. I've spent the day investigating the secret life of our three felines (Lucy Snowe, Axel and Wigford) watching The Taming of the Shrew, (Taylor/Burton version) and paying bills.
My first taste of crepes was in San Fransisco in 1995, at Ti-Couz. My friend D took me there before my red-eye flight back to Pittsburgh. Thanks to a salmon / tomato savory crepe, a dessert crepe with lemon ice cream and chocolate sauce (trust me, it was divine) and some good white wine, it was a very peaceful flight. Although I highly recommend that you not schedule a three hour layover in Chicago O'Hare on an early Sunday morning. No shower, no open food kiosks and no nap thanks to the airport priest coming over the loudspeaker every 10 minutes to lure the faithful to mass.
Naturally, coming across Creperie Beaubourg next to the Stravinsky Fountain, I insisted on stopping to eat.
The inside of the restaurant was pub cozy, with old, old, old wooden benches, chairs and tables. We were led to a window seat next to the kitchen. Shortly after our arrival, a group consisting of two women and two small children entered. One of the children was highly displeased with J and me. Clothed in a heavy knit Tommy Hilfinger sweater (emblazoned with the American flag, of all things) he dashed up to our table and began scolding us in French. Embarrassed, the mother led the boy away to a nearby table, where he continued his tirade for the next twenty minutes, ignoring his mother's attempts to shush him and occasionally glaring at us.
Since our combined French is barely enough to decipher the menu, we could only guess why the little boy was so upset. Our best theory is that the father of the boy owned the restaurant and we were sitting at “his” table.
The food was excellent, the wine good. The memory is priceless.
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