Observation 2: time to eat? the french sit down.

No Starbucks venti lattes to go, no snarfing down a slice of pizza as you zip from work to the subway, no munching on skittles as you stroll around Luxembourg Garden. Food is essential, a source of joy, a thing to be savored, not engulfed!

This I learned one morning when I boarded the metro with my small coffee in a to go cup. The doors slammed shut, and twenty pairs of critical eyes darted to my mug. I tried to cover the little sippy place in the lid with my finger, thinking maybe it was just the aromatic vapors of my super dark espresso that were eliciting such hostility. Nope, still staring.

I decided not to take a sip — maybe I could play the role of servantile intern fetching a coffee for her Devil-Wears-Prada-diva-boss. I had about eight metro stops to go, and over the next five minutes judgement hung so thick in the air that it fogged up the windows. When I finally reached my station, I bolted from the metro. Twenty paris of french eyes watched my back as I chucked my expresso in a nearby trash and vowed never again to dine and dash a même temps.