Mel and I finally got together for dinner Friday night. As always it was wonderful to gab and catch up, swap stories and support one another and, most of all, giggle like American girls (because we are, girls).
And it was a restaurant I’ve wanted to try for a long time, Caffè dei Cioppi, an itty-bitty Italian spot tucked down an alley in the 11th, so I was especially happy to do it all over glasses of prosecco and plates of pasta and risotto.
And it was even more delicious when, instead of ordering dessert, monsieur Romain Duris walked in, with his scooter helmet and a girl, but without a reservation, and we got to (nonchalantly, of course) gaze at the even-more-beautiful-in-person French actor, a mere meter away from us, for a full minute. We were totally sated.