I’ve never had an especially  bad time in France. Maybe Marseille, terrible times, dog bones in a loft,  crushed  40s of Kronenbourg,  just miserable, hot, it’s always hot. But in general the French vibe works. Wines all day, cigarettes, fancy dogs, parasol stores — killer vibes for a tourist. A bar with four or five  bar stools, maybe 300 square feet, just filled with plants — ferns, succulents and other various plants just fucking everywhere, a large maybe grey, long haired cat moving around inside, and of course an absolutely stunning woman sitting way nice, casually pounding some wine. A tourist is a goner in a place like that. Most of time you can’t quite be sure if it’s a ruse. I have a picture of a tiny dog, a Jack Russel terrior, looking just so, sitting in midday light, tied up by a tiny delicate string, plopped down in front a scarf store. Just scarves…

~Excerpt from “One More Time,” by Dennis Spina, Chef, Roebling Tea Room

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