And so, gentle reader, I found myself yesterday at a fancy French cafe in Prospect Heights called Le Gamin. Le Gamin means "the leg" in French and as the morning light shown upon mine I couldn't help but notice how nice they looked. I think the waitress was startled by my fluency in French for when I grasped her hand and introduced myself by saying "Je t'aime Rachel" several times she seemed confused and vaguely disturbed. It shocks me how few people speak French in Brooklyn, especially in cheese shops, where they all should. Ordering cheese that smells like an unwashed rear end requires heightened language, but most of these so-called hipsters have yet to master that, even with high priced degrees from the University of Nevada and such. When I begin graduate studies at CUNY Queens College in the fall, I plan to take a few classes in Latin, just for fun party chats. It can't always be about the latest issue of The Economist, after all. 

  But back at Le Gamin, the cafe au lait was delicious, although wastefully served in a soup bowl the size of an infant's bathtub. Usually you only see such waste in places such as Vermont or New Hampshire, ghastly bloated states known mostly for guns, god and ground beef, but I expected more from the French. At any rate, the almond croissant was to die for, but I do suggest not taking that literally. 

   Thank you, gentle reader, for reading my very first post! These restaurant reviews sure are tricky, but not all of my posts will be reviews. Oh, no! Tune in next time for thoughts about the merits of non air-conditioned subway cars and why cows are better than hamsters.