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Katrina and I had spent the morning wandering around Paris and a good chunk of the day traveling, so we were both pretty worn out and under the weather. That evening, we found a little restaurant a few blocks from our hotel and stared at the menu with zero appetite. I ordered onion soup to try to knock the chill off my bones and a plate of fries for sustenance. Our waiter scoffed and rolled his eyes at me.
"Fries do not go with soup," he said after he took Katrina's order. "Bread goes with soup."
He returned later with our soup and a basket of bread. No fries for me.
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Katrina has hated beer as long as I've known her, so we were all (even the waiter!) pretty excited to find a beer she liked so much. It tasted like cherry kool-aid.
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Oh, Duvel, you are so delicious.
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