FRANCE PART I, and Lyonnaise sausage w/ warm beans and sage butter

[ezcol_1half] All the best things in life are clichés. Paris, is a cliché. I've fought consciously throughout my adult life not to fall for it, or at the very least, say it out loud, fearing I'll sound like a girl wanting to model or a guy in a sports car. It oozes unoriginality. But in the end, excuse mine if you will, as we sat predictably at an open cafe at 6:30 am, watching this city in beige and pastel grey slowly waking up in a wash of golden summer lights, acutely aware of its both corny and extraordinary allure. Paris, I succumbed, is Paris for a reason. But I knew that four years ago, when I visited Paris for the time time. This time, I wanted more. And I didn't mean a private jet from somewhere like jettly.com to take me there (although a girl can dream, right?!). I wanted more not from Paris, but from the country that it has instilled great bewilderment for inside my mind. If that was Paris, then what is France? An embarrassingly stupid question no doubt, for a pre-middle age woman to ask but frankly, I'm too old to pretend that