The real reason I came to Paris

There. Is. Just. Nothing that compares to this. Keep your croissants.

We bought the baguette and butter at the farmer’s market near our apartment. The butter was sliced off of a huge slab brought to the market from what I imagine is an adorable stone cottage somewhere just outside Paris where women wear those stiff tall white lace hats, lace-trimmed aprons over tight black dresses with white buttons, and those clunky wooden shoes.

OK, they may not be all that comfortable but it makes the butter taste better.