“Is no Franche”

The door to the Villa Vauquelin

We had the great delight to be able to stay in a small apartment in Paris for just a few days, down some maze-like streets a short walk away from Le Mouffetard. I went by one evening to buy a couple of bottles of wine from a shop there, open to the street with cases of wine spilling out into the road.

I asked the older woman – I say that relatively, because I was also merely a few days from my own 60th birthday, and I say older, because she was clearly the Dame Superieur of the shop – for a Pino Grigio as my wife had asked for a white wine, and I knew she preferred that grape.

“Is no’ Franche.” She wrinkled her nose, patiently gestured, and picked out a Pinot Gris. So, typically, obviously a tourist, I continued. I explained that I preferred the reds from Spain. Did she have anything like that?

“Is no’ Franche.” She replied. It was clear to her that I didn’t understand the subtle message that this shop sold French wines. She gestured and picked out a red from her shelves.

Yo no puedo mas D'agilis

Always take her recommendations, is my recommendation.

I googled and found the wine. It was a wonderful wine. But the point is, you can make breakfast with eggs and day old croissants. Slice down through the top with a sharp knife to make a few slots. Put a couple of them in a shallow bowl and crack an egg over each. Grind fresh ground pepper. Let it soak and pop the two croissants into a hot frying pan. Cook. Flip. Cook. Flip. Serve with maple syrup.

I call it, “Is no’ Franche toast.” I Googled ‘egg and croissant’. Couldn’t find anything quite like this.

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