A lazy dimanche in Rennes.

Bringing a bit of Paris with me, in the sense of simple breakfast food. I made myself a bagette with butter and jam for breakfast. A bagette that has lasted me days in making the same meal multiple times. The crust has become hard and crumbly, but the center has remained soft.

Last night I started to make myself some ravioli I bought cheap from the carrefour, but as I poured the noodles into the water beginning to boil I noticed that mold had started to form on them. (The downside of buying things on their day of expiration.) Let down and left a little hungry I decided to treat myself to a nice sunday brunch the next day at L'épicerie. One of the few places open on sunday. It has a cozy interior. /I noticed them selling antiques at one of the local antique markets once/. Paying attention to when being seated I ask to be sat in the back room with Inga. Filled with antiques and coated in wallpaper.

The menu is rather limited to just tartines (the specials of the day always seem to be more elaborate, and never disappoint) but their drink section is rather elaborate and there is a section of 'ancien' drinks that I have started to try a different one each time I visit. I always forget the name before it even arrives. Today's seemed to be a sweet dessert wine.

The tartine was a paste of vegetables and spicy French mustard. Then with a few pieces of thinly sliced sausage. More recipes to reverse engineer and return to the States with. Perhaps with a few alterations to make it vegetarian. Or Pescetarian (their fruits of the sea tartine special from last time... Little octopus on toast..).

The drinking glasses that they serve with are the same that I grew up with at my parent's. Adding to the cozy home feeling.

I look at the underside of Inga's plate brought for her dessert. No stamp. It felt like it should have had a green stamp. Something simple with a France. Probably just France and a couple of letters, but instead nothing.

The glass my coffee is served in has a slight chip on the rim. I rub my finger over it. Not exactly dull, but not too sharp either. I still don't press it to my mouth.

Four hours plus or minus.

People come in waves. People leave in waves

Savor the carafe d'eau. The water mixes with the aftertaste of coffee in my mouth. Sweet.

Two men come into the backroom to be sat. The only table open is too large for them to share for just the two of them, so we pack up realizing that this latest wave might need more room.

The carafe had run out anyways.

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New Birth.

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