I had a cod like fish, steamed carrots, arugula and broccoli soufflé, with a glass of Languedoc red and an espresso for my lunch. Not knowing what I would find in the vicinity of my hostel, and planning for this to be my main meal, I thought it a good idea to stop. It was. If I lived here permanently and therefore knew I could have this sort of thing as a Friday lunch for the rest of my life, then, I too, would be never more than dress size 8, and look as well turned out as several of the women of my age I saw walking by.
But that is a fantasy and I accept it.
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