I was looking over a bistrot menu and it was in french, and it was full of french menu items. I wasn’t in France. I was in Quebec, where they have genteel, continental ways.
The citizens are slightly more stylish than those of the average american city. Everyone is riding bikes.
I really like it here. (It’s easy to like in September.) It reminds me a bit of France, although it’s clearly not France. It’s got enough french elements to provoke a sense of homeyness.
And as I sat at the restaurant, I realized that I had managed to commune with aspects of french culture without taking a plane.
What a treat.
It reminds me that when I was a little girl and found out about Quebec, it seemed like the perfect solution to my cultural quandaries. I was convinced at the age of 8 that I would end up marrying a french-canadian.