If I had the money to go to France, I would, but I don’t. I
have negative money, the story of every college student. Although my numbers
are in the red I still seem to manage to splurge on chai, cafes and clothes.
Sad but true. Feeling a little French, despite the fact that I look hideous in
a beret, I met my dad for lunch at the infamous Rachel’s Café and Creperie.
From the curb, the café looks
simple, lined with awnings of black and white stripes, but as you step through
the glass door, for no money at all you can head to France for a little while.
Greeting you, right beyond the door, stands a headless mannequin dressed in
some sort of easy, breezy, beautiful--Rachel’s attire. Photographs line the
walls, each with remnants of the Eiffel tower, or something to that effect. I,
being someone who desperately wants to be well traveled, finds it amusing to
look at the photographs, even dramatically pointing at some of them, leaning
over to my father loudly muttering of how I was on that street. Oui, oui. Only
French words I know. I’ve never been to France.
After you obtain a seat in either
one of the two rooms, you’re in for a “traiter.” That’s treat in French, thank
you Google translate. From Cheeseburger Crepes, Greek Crepes, Thai Crepes, to
what I believe to be created by God himself, Nutella Crepes, they’ve got it all.
God bless the man who thought to create Nutella. This is literally a marriage
proposal to that man, or an invitation to simply cook for me, either one will
suffice. Eating is my specialty. (Insert winky face.)
My dad and I cleared our plates of
a Greek and a Breakfast crepe within minutes of their arrival. Next we felt the
need to indulge in one of the Nutella crepes I so greatly praised in the
paragraph above. It was simply splendid. So splendid, it ended up not only in
my mouth but on my dress as well. It becomes a dog eat dog world when you place
one singular Nutella crepe in front of my father and me. After my dad finished his last swig of Boylan
Cane Cola, because Rachel’s is just too hipster to have Coke beverages, we were
off. Goodbye France, hello Lancaster City.
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