Wednesday, August 07, 2013

Rue Benjamin Franklin

After days of cooking for myself at home, I decided to take myself out for dinner.  I wandered through Passy until I found a nice braserie on Rue Benjamin Franklin.  Cafe Franklin.  I had the plat du jour- a bowl of rich French Onion soup, followed by two brochettes of beof d'aubrec- kebabs of grilled sirloin with garlic-seasoned onions and peppers over a bed of frites and salad.

As I was paying the bill, I started chatting with the waiter.  He asked where I was from, and when I said that I was from Washington but had last been living in New York, he asked me:

Giants or Redskins?

I laughed, and replied The Skins.

He started hitting the chairs and table, chanting RGIII, RGIII!

I burst out laughing.  I asked if he was a Skins fan.  He said no, he preferred the Steelers.

I asked him how come he knew about American football.  He replied that he played on a team in a league in Paris.  He was a linebacker and captain of the defense.

I asked  if he played rugby too?

No, that is for pussies.

I burst out laughing.  I left a nice tip, and headed off down Rue Benjamin under the glow of the beacon of light that is the Tour Eiffel, marveling at how the French always manage to astound me.

I passed the statue of the man whose street bore his name; the smile on his countenance made me think he agreed.

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