My friend Meg sent me an email last night asking if I had any hotel or dining suggestions for her upcoming trip to Paris.
Here's my biggest travel tip for anyone out there: Do not ask me for travel suggestions unless you enjoy novel length emails filled with every bit of minutia I can come up with. I love passing on travel tips. In fact, I'm some kind of Sheriff of Travel or something, over at Trip Advisor because I write so many reviews.
And by the way, Meg, I forgot to tell you this little tidbit. The French gas stations? They're like gourmet delis. Not a single insect-infested fruit pie to be found. It's all beautiful cheeses, fresh fruits, amazing meats and these big, beautiful bakeries. It'll probably be the only time in my life I will say, "Why don't we eat at the gas station?"
After I wrote Meg a 359,000 word email, I got inspired by all the Frenchy-ness and I decided to run an updated rerun about my dining experiences in France. Don't worry. It will be new to you, Internet, because this post is from the days when I had two followers, one of them being my sister. Enjoy!
Posted by Joann Mannix at 7:13 PM
Labels: blog friends, mean people, mortifying moments, my stable of fears, The Hubby, true stories, vacation, writing