Googling Ex Boyfriends: Part 2

By popular demand, Mr. Francais is next....
Scene: Irvine, California, decades ago. I was 19 and about to move to Paris. I had a one way ticket and my bag was packed. He came into the restaurant where I was working as a waitress. The restaurant was called C'est La Vie. (Don't you just love irony?) He lived in Paris and was in So Cal on business. He had dinner, I bought him a glass of Napa Valley red. He gave me his card and asked me to call him when I arrived in Paris so he could take me out for a glass of French red. This sounded like a good idea. On our first date he took me here:

He ordered Steak Tartare. Have you ever seen anyone eat Steak Tartare? It consists of a large mound of obscenely expensive raw meat with an uncooked egg on top. It's not pleasant. But he was smart and attentive and fun. Here was the best part: He had a motorcycle. I would just like to say that riding on the back of a motorcycle through the streets of Paris, in the wee hours, holding on to a tall, leather jacketed, chain-smoking Frenchman who was smitten with me, was pretty sexy.

It looked like this:


P.S. He and I are still in touch. He lives in Paris with his gorgeous French wife and two gorgeous French children.