thinking about Paris, high on red wine

The closest you can get to France in the USA is New Orleans.
The closest you can get to France in Alabama is....Chez Fon Fon.

So that's just where I went to celebrate Bastille Day.
Accompanying me were two bon vivants that we'll call Sonny and Frank.
Sonny's love of France lies in the food, drink and fashion of the country mostly.
And by food I mean orgasmic mousse au chocolat that can only be found in dive Parisian 24-hour diners.
By wine I mean red wine, white wine, rosé and champagne...really any varietal of grape that ferments....and any wine that comes in magnums.
And by fashion I mean reading The Sartorialist.

I don't know that Frank likes France per se, but Frank speaks French, wears jewelry and smokes
cigarettes like a fiend, which therefore makes him the perfect Bastille day companion.

All I really have to say about the meal is that the frites were good.
But the cheese portions were very unAmerican to say the least.
UnFrench as well. Basically they were little bite-size portions of Comté, Camembert and a goat cheese whose name I have forgotten. The meal (for me) was forgettable. But not the companionship. And the once-yearly opportunity to
"admire a country where leaders are celebrated for screwing hot models rather than impeached for ejaculating on interns."
(Quote can be attributed to www.someecards.com).

Last year I was in Tanzania for Bastille Day.
Getting crunk with sissy in Zanzibar.
What a year, seriously!

Vive la France!