#28.07.16

[sechsterzweiter]

Oh boy

She whispered, barely hearable

Without a blink she kept staring at the dishes which used to have no cracks at all just a few heartbeats ago

Now there weren’t even dishes to have cracks on anymore

Why

I accidentally broke a plate while cleaning- those other ones where pointless without that dish. The collection was no longer complete, so why bother cleaning the other ones?

[wreneuropeanwriting-blog]

28.07.16, Lyon, France

I have no pictures of Le Petit Glouton because I thought it might be rude to take pictures of people eating, so no photo set will accompany this post!

Le Petit Glouton was a tiny restaurant in a back alley near the Cathedral Lyon. It was housed in a building, a room, really, that was much older than the business itself. The food smelled delicious, and the patio tables spilled into the street. It was full, mirthful, and genuine, much unlike the restaurants on the main streets, clearly aimed at tourists. There was something quaint about it, like it had been comfortably situated in its current abode for several decades. Business was good, and it looked to be consistently good. The staff was friendly and helpful, prone to chatting with customers as they came in for a bite. They were familiar with their patrons, but not suspicious of outsiders. The service was at a slow, meandering French pace, without hurry or rush. The air was chill, and the smells of roasting meat and vegetables wafted up into the ancient wooden rafters. The smells of the street; greasy street vendors and cigarettes seemed to fade away with the curling candle smoke and the sizzling dishes being prepared in a secluded kitchen that was separated from the larger restaurant by a stained glass window that depicted an intricate leafy pattern in soft blues and bright gold, the leaves lobed and on vines, tipped with clusters of berries and red poppies, alternately.  The walls were white plaster that covered aged brick in the center, the bricks still in the open on the peaked corners of the walls, very old and hung with Lyonnaise landscape paintings. They were made with light brush strokes and muted paints, gold framed and hung a few feet from the dark brown wood beams of the ceiling, split with age and weathered from ancient smoke. The door was painted red on the frames, with glass inlay, open to the wind. The tables were many, and covered with glossed replications of old papers with black, looping French words. The glasses and table wear were humble but clean and sparkling, they were charming in the fact that they were clearly well loved. The bread was thick and warm, it tasted fresh baked and newly cut. The meats were well spiced and delicious, strongly flavored red meat bathed in a special Lyonnais gravy, with a side of thinly sliced potatoes covered in a light, refreshing cheese. Everything was salty and savory and hot, it matched the atmosphere of Le Petit Glouton perfectly.

[imperfect-patrixia]

There he is. 😍

Source : cristianodaily

[threegood-things]

28.07.16

1. I made my mums birthday cake today. It is the most attractive cake I've ever made and I feel ridiculously accomplished by it. 2. Overall bloody good day. 3. The boy went back into his cot this eve without too much drama.