Kiss My French

Updated: May 23, 2020

Nyc, December 2018


It was going to be a dinner and toast before the holidays. The plan was myself, my best friend, and our other friend R, who prior to our dinner, would be on a date - you have to appreciate her multi-tasking skills. R picked the spot, named after a clever French saying. Anna and I arrive to the restaurant a bit late. I spot a guy inside wearing a wool-brimmed hat, with the kind of face that should be in men’s magazines. He runs to open the door and welcome us. I quickly compliment his style choices. Immediately, I had a gut feeling that it was going to be a good night.


A restaurant must have good lighting. The amber light from this particular establishment came from antique light bulbs strategically reflecting the aged mirrors on the wall. New York’s design choice for a french bistro in a traditional Keith McKnally kind of way.


There’s a buzz in the room. I glance over the good-looking crowd, which seemed to have settled in for the night. Anna and I are lead to the back and we slide into our table. A text from R,“Going to be late”. We immediately order. Escargot, Steak Frites, 2 glasses of Pully, boom. By our second round, I decide to get up and try my luck at bumming a cigarette out front, but on my way out I spy a separate entrance to a narrow bar and peeked my head in. A tall, dark haired Jude Law doppleganger calls out to me in a French accent, saying that I look familiar. I look over and it’s the wool brimmed hat guy sitting on the bar stool next to him. Jude Law with his piercing green eyes keeps insisting he knows me from somewhere. I shyly smile toward his friend. I know I don’t know him, but I play his game while I try on his friend's brim hat.






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