Yesterday I went to the Salon du Chocolat, which is to say, a HUGE CHOCOLATE CONVENTION! Yes, it is for real! There were literally hundreds of stands and stores represented from all over Paris, and there was all manner of free chocolate, and you paid to get in, but then you could browse all the chocolateness!
There were clothes made out of or or sprayed/smeared with chocolate, there were massages given with chocolate, hair waxing stuff made from some sort of chocolate, hot chocolate, chocolate fountains, mousse au chocolat, ice cream, a room decorated with chocolate pastries (HUGE ONES! Probably not real), lots of pastries, macarons (which are really, really good. They're not nuts - that's what I thought when I heard. MacaROANs, not macarOOOns.)
And I bought some stuff. For some of you. Or not. Maybe I'll keep it. I admit, though, that I came out feeling a little bit doozy. Perhaps I ate some chocolates with alcohol? They weren't labelled - just proffered. I took. I don't think I was really drunk, though. :) And I felt a tad sick. I think I'll stay from chocolate for a little bit after all that!
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Mathematicians are like Frenchmen: whatever you say to them they translate into their own language, and forthwith it is something entirely different. (J.W. von Goethe)
Everything ends this way in France - everything. Weddings, chistenings, duels, funerals, swindlings, diplomatic affairs - everything is a pretext for a dinner. (Jean Anouilh)
"Miranda - how very daring of you to wear that shade of yellow! It's a pity whoever tinted your slippers was unable to get a closer match. Ah well, in Paris they know about these things." (-sorcery and cecelia)
"In Paris they simply stared when I spoke to them in French; I never did succeed in making those idiots understand their language." -Mark Twain
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