Red Mosquito

doug rr wrote:have you booked Paul Bert yet?

tragabigzanda wrote:

doug rr wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:

doug rr wrote:

tragabigzanda wrote:

doug rr wrote:make sure to order the sole meuniere from chez George while you're there

Do you remember which section it’s in? We’re staying in the 6th and there’s one right around the corner, but the website just has drink menus. But there are also three other locations with the same name?

1 Rue de mail..its very old school..enjoy the radishes before lunch or dinner..

Just found them on instagram and the chef is always posing with celebrities. Probably my kid isn't cool enough for us to hang there (because I definitely still am )

f*ck the celeb stories..its basically a Dennys diner on the inside with great food..its just normal people that eat 24 ounce ribeyes for lunch..

I'll put it on the maybe list. But if I go there and they make me feel like a jerk for bringing my kid in, so help me god

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Carl Sandburg wrote:There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

tragabigzanda wrote:

96583UP wrote:Caesar’s favorite province

Have a great friend about to sell their NYC apartments and move to the french countryside

where i plan to visit

and may never leave

they got those tight donkers here on the beach too. French dudes smuggling plums.

tragabigzanda wrote:Paris was fine...The next two days brought gradual improvements, and while my views on the economic/ethnic disparity didn't really change, there were some things I deeply enjoyed. Best part was definitely the Jardin d'Acclimatation, which just blew every other kids' amusement park I've ever seen out of the water. My kid died and went to heaven, which meant I did too...

We spent the next three days in Lyon, which was MUCH more my speed. Every meal was cheap, delicious, and felt like a real celebration of both their culture and economy; and led to the mind-blowing realization that daily navigation of American capitalism has probably given me some low-grade PTSD. We had some fun experiences, including a Michelin 2-star meal with my kid that had some pretty memorable moments. And the socio-ethnic scaffolding here wasn't nearly so segregated as Paris; it was more like one big melting pot. Felt very much like a working class city, with tourism/hospitality/food being the primary drivers...

From there we went on to the French Alps, in Annecy to be exact, and holy shit -- this is literally the most beautiful place I've ever been in my life. Retirement goal sort of stuff. Pretty bummed to be moving on to Milan to rendezvous with family tomorrow, because I don't enjoy that city at all. I could literally stay in Annecy forever and be quite happy...

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

doug rr wrote:have you booked Paul Bert yet?

The mall cop?

bart wrote:

lennytheweedwhacker wrote:

doug rr wrote:have you booked Paul Bert yet?

The mall cop?

I made this joke months ago and nobody laughed then either

spike wrote:Please do not.