Steak frites with a side of Colt 45

Went to a quiet little French Bistro with Marcella on Saturday. It smelled nice and had vintage cork screws framed on the wall. Though her accent was thick and authentic (as it should be), the waitress explained the decor was from sdklsllkd. Ah I said, thank you.

We fussed over which white wine to order, but finally settled on a chablis. That's French for something. Probably flower. Or table. Either way, it tasted crisp and buttery (said my pallete).

Then it hit me. Wafting through the in house speaker system was Afroman's raucous hit "Colt 45." I mean, really? Yes, really. A song rife with colorful language describing fornication, illegal drug use and Dolly Parton. A crowd pleaser.

This is a picture I took at The Met. It has nothing to do with the French Bistro. But neither does weed induced rap from the California high desert. Cest la vie.