Adrenaline

Travel rush! There's nothing like the thrill of hitting the "Finish" button when booking plane tickets online... especially when said tickets will send me back to Paris for a month! My fingers are still trembling...

I must admit, though I'm loving life in New York, I am always--quietly and not so quietly--pining for Paris. It's the little things that I really miss: pas trop cuit baguettes (crunchy outside, soft inside), sunsets over the Seine, vodka pomme on command...

It's not that you can't find fresh bread in New York, it's just that you have to put in some effort to do so. And recently it has become abundantly clear: I am lazy. I will eat a jar of peanut butter for dinner if it's the only thing in the cupboard, which it often is. Whoa, I'm gross and lazy.

Anyway, this Moveable Beast can't wait to get back to Paris (where I will probably start pining for real peanut butter as soon as I arrive). I guess the grass is always greener. But from here, the Parisian grass is looking really, really absurdly green...

No Shame in a Little Vodka Pomme

I picked up a little trick when I lived in Paris... a little trick known as the Vodka Pomme. It's smooth, not hangover-inducing, makes me happy, and is totally non-controversial. Yes, it's vodka and apple juice, but it never felt juvenile... at least, until I came to New York.

Since I've been back, I've attempted to order the Vodka Pomme multiple times to no avail. Last week alone I was shot down by three bartenders. I suppose the problem is that I often lead with, "Do you have any apple juice?" which usually inspires raised eyebrows, if not blatant disgust.

When I posed this question on Friday, the bartender responded, "This is a bar for adults." It didn't help that my friend had just ordered red wine in a "normal glass," which was tantamount to asking for it in a sippy cup. Apparently, it's not acceptable to request drinks that evoke memories of the sandbox. It's all dirty martinis and Maker's Mark and everything else that is just soooooooo cool.

I'm not deterred. In fact, I'm more determined than ever to find a New York bar that will make me a proper Vodka Pomme without judgment or fanfare. Until then, I'm going to carry a flask full of apple juice at all times. I have no choice.