Wherever I go, I queue. To buy a baguette, to use the ladies room, to withdraw money. Queue queue queue queue queue. I am sure there is an ancient French saying that reads, “why be served straight away when one can queue?”
Before moving to Paris I had a whole host of ideas in my head about what Paris was like. It was a place where everyone was effortlessly slim. A city where people drank only fine wine, with restraint. Un endroit full to bursting with excellent home cooks, where frozen food wouldn’t be tolerated.