Maybe, Gabriel

I almost starved today.

The bad part about living in a residential neighborhood far from the city's main sights is that the neighborhood shops certainly don't cater to the tourist. And, yes, I've been warned that Paris slows down on Sunday, but I just figured that meant the local cafés might shut their doors a little earlier. Instead, it meant that everything shuts down.

Even Monoprix. I actually came back to my room and looked up Monoprix's website to confirm the "fermer" sign that hung on their door. And it took my an hour and eight minutes to find dinner, chinese pork served in a little container about the size of my thumb.

True, I did have a three-course lunch off the Boulevard St. Germain-a-Pres before visting the Musée de Cluny.

Gratuitous shot of the Musée de Cluny from the medieval gardens.

Strolling by, perusing the posted menus, I was about to pass up the little resto when the waiter guarding the door called out, "Bonjour Mademoiselle. You speak English?" Clearly, I have yet to perfect the brisk walk of the native Parisian.

"Would you like to learn something?" he asked. Always up for edification, I nodded.

Then he starts talking about and jauntily pointing at the menu chalked up on the black board before practically dragging me inside and pouring me a complimentary kir.

So I sat and leisurely sipped my French onion soup (here, they drop the "French"), the only one in the room. My waiter, Monsieur Gabriel, was fascinated by my lefthandedness and flabbergasted that I didn't know who won the latest NBA finals game.

I was seated at a big window and watched the waiter from the silent restaurant across the street, also struggling to snatch up customers on a slow Sunday afternoon. The waiter congratulated Gabriel on his catch, and then proceeded to amp up his own efforts. I watched as the two waiters battled -- Gabriel with his "Do you want to learn something?", the rival waiter with his engaging smile and low, beckoning bow. Gabriel won out again, and I was soon seated next to two Canadians, trying to suppress my smile every time they said "tomorrow."

After a bit of chocolate mousse and Gabriel's rendition of the old french chanson "Belle Amélie," I asked for the bill.

"You will be back, maybe tomorrow?" Uh, maybe, Gabriel. "Au revoir, then! I will wait for you!"

A bit too charming, but at least I got a free drink.