La Boulangerie de la Place
I returned to our local bakery yesterday. For mini-pavés, of course. I think I am becoming addicted--yesterday was spinach and goat cheese, and lardons and reblochon. (Note: they use fresh spinach. Make sure you carry a mirror and floss.)
Those little buggers are so good, and so easy to stick in your bag for on-the-go eating. This is the kind of fast food I like. They work great in the metro, too, because they don't drip, and you can eat them one-handed, while using the other hand on a pole to make sure the conductor doesn't knock you flat against your fellow rider when he stops hard. (Some of them must do this on purpose; I guess they think it's funny that 500 people have to brace themselves every 30 seconds at their whim.)
But, the best news is that I got several smiles from the girl behind the counter, the one who grumbled the day the Russian lady made the "what's wrong with the French" crack.
Maybe she doesn't hate my very existence, or else she thinks I'm funny because I keep coming in for those lovely golden hot pockets. (They're not always just for me; I sometimes buy one for the homeless guy that is always so nice, and likes to pet Lucy when we walk by.)
Maybe I am totally projecting and she was just having a bad day that day, and yesterday was having a good day, and doesn't know me from beans.
Either way, I don't care. I like getting smiles.
I gave her a big one back.