The anti-frites, anti-foie gras dinner.

One of the best parts about having visitors here is showing them all of the most glorious things to eat. And we all know that I’ve been doing some serious eating. No one, and I mean no one, leaves on my watch without at least trying:

• pain au raisins (from my corner bakery, bien sur)
• pain au chocolat
• salted caramel macarons at Carette
• pâté de campagne
• banana and nutella crepes
• lamb chops
• french onion soup
• my homemade chicken en cocotte
• gallons of champagne
• moelleux au chocolat
• those little dried sausage ball things that are like crack
• some really stinky cheese
• fresh baguette

And that’s usually just on day one. So it’s no surprise that after a couple weeks of entertaining guests, my organs are in dire need of a little rest. My body cries out for something simple, something fresh, something with some vegetables on it. That’s why after sending off the in-laws on Sunday, we went directly to Al Taglio for this:

Oh, pizza by the kilo! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways: with thinly sliced potato and truffle cream, with speck and smoky eggplant purée, with sweet pumpkin sauce and salty prosciutto. And let’s not forget the simple pairing of mozzarella and garlicky tomato. All settled onto a perfectly crisp-yet-chewy-inside crust. The crust! Tis’ not the sad soggy specimen found beneath most lame slices around here, no. This is the crust of my dreams. I want to be rolled up inside that doughy wonder to live out my last days. Which at the rate I’m going, will probably be sometime around next week.