What Was I Thinking?

I tend to believe a Frenchman when he talks about food.

So when Friend and I walked into La Parisienne for lunch and the familiar Frenchman behind the counter tells me to get the special, blanquette de veau, because "It's the most French of dishes," I do.

I'm that easy.

The generous-sized bowl of veal chunks in a mushroom and carrot mirepoix over rice was simple, satisfying and way more than I could finish.

Especially because I needed to save room for some of my friend's frites.

We took our time lunching and chatting about the important things in life: restaurant copycats, kind men and how to take a compliment.

She pointed out how helpful it would have been to have gotten a call from her older self to her younger one with advice.

You know, stuff like, "You'll never look hotter! Show it off while you can."

Or, "His band sucks!"

Maybe even, "Quit wasting your time with him and move on!"

If only.

For dessert, I tried one of the dark chocolate-covered vanilla confections in the case while Friend had a mocha coffee drink.

Even if I did drink coffee, which I don't, there'd be no way I could sub out coffee for chocolate.

And I wouldn't have needed my older self to call me with that bulletin when I was a young thing.

Like knowing when to listen to a Frenchman, some facts of life are understood young.

Or, at the very least, younger.