52 years

January 8, 2013

I feel for the poor guy, said the man next to me at the crepe stand. My wife was here telling him, no dairy, no butter, no this, no that. I’m just here to make sure he follows through.

He watched the crepe-maker fold the buckwheat shell over Nutella and strawberries. Please leave it on there extra time, he said to the chef. She likes it crispy.

I know exactly what she likes, he said to me with a conspiratorial tilt of his head. After 52 years, I know all the secrets.

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