The French Paradox

You have to love a lunch date that begins with a walk, even if the Sysco truck did almost mow us down.

But by walking later than usual and with a girlfriend, I seemed to throw off my regulars.

I'm not sure if I'm invisible when I walk with someone else or if they were trying to leave us to our conversation, a major one about my potential love life.

Even without the usual greetings from the parking lot attendant, the homeless man and the laundromat owner breaking up my walk, it was one of the best in recent memory because of the company.

As much as I enjoy walking alone, there's a lot of pleasure in having a companion who can keep up.

My, doesn't that just sum up my philosophy about life?

For lunch, I suggested La Parisienne since I'm so fond of it and so she could try someplace new.

It's such a sunny spot with glass walls, a bustling clientele of suits and enough variety on the menu to give me different choices every time I'm in there (this was my third visit).

This time that meant crepes a la Reine with pulled chicken in a mushroom veloute, arriving folded in a large square with slits cut in it to expose the filling.

It was so generous and so well flavored that I shared it with my friend in exchange for some of her excellent Belgian frites.

My friend liked the place as much as I did, marveling at the easy parking directly out front (most of the clientele walks), the attention to detail and the friendliness of the staff.

As we were sitting there enjoying our lunch, the owner came over to see how we liked our food.

Raving about the flavor of the crepe, he told us with a mock sad face that his biggest seller is the chicken on ciabatta, possibly the least French of all the dishes on the menu.

Tragic, yes, but at least I wasn't part of the problem.

At least not part of that problem.