On the train the other morning, I stood by two young former classmates. Apparently they both studied in Paris, as I surmised from this snippet of conversation overheard during a pause in my headphone music:

Dude on Train: We found a Chili's restaurant off the--what is it--Champs Elysee? And we went and had beer and cheese sticks.
Girl on Train: I totally know what you're saying. We went to Mickey D's in Paris and I was just so glad to see American food. Everybody says the French are so skinny, because they just eat nothing but vegetables? That was not my experience!
Dude: Yeah, I gained a lot of weight in Paris eating fries and drinking beer.
Anne: Excuse me? If you would step out of my way, I'd like to get off here. I'm actually going to get on the Blue Line, go to O'Hare, get on the next flight to Paris, and APOLOGIZE for the both of you. Also, I'm stopping at the patisserie on St. Andre Des Arts for a croissant and some fresh orange juice. And a couple of bottles of Orange Volvic for the road! Pass me my cell phone, I need to call work and tell them I'll be late.

But I didn't say this, because I didn't have my passport.

On a sad note, Bistro Zinc on Southport has closed. Where will I find steak frites now?

On an up note, Pizza DOC in our neighborhood is certainly a good option and seems to be the place to see and be seen, as we saw everyone we know there last night. They understand the meaning of "thin crust pizza" which hardly anyone in Chicago does. Looking out the window as we were finishing up, I saw the snow start to fall in a gust, like someone had just turned on the spigot.