We took the private lift to Le Jules Verne for my birthday lunch. The elevator operator whispered the distinguishing features of the day's menu as we ascended. Culinary poetry in the sky.
On the way to lunch we passed a Fiat 500, the modern iteration. My grandmother had the old school version. I think they're both cute as a button.
Alain Ducasse refurbished the decor and the victuals a few years ago, so now the dining experience isn't merely a high wire lark punctuated by tepid food and a cardiac inducing bill. The food now rivals the view.
After, we put on our walking shoes in a valiant effort to erase the caloric rampage. This didn't stop me from peaking into the window of each and every patisserie we came upon.
We did stop inside Pierre Hermé. I had to pick up a birthday cake, afterall.