Wednesday, May 23, 2012

“Fishermen were stringing their lines for goujon and frying them up on the spot. I bought a handful wrapped in newspaper and sat on the wall watching the barges move under Pont Sully. The nest of fish was crisp under a coarse snow of salt and smelled so simple and good I thought they might save my life. Just a little. Just for that moment.” The Paris Wife. 

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