The Guardian is hunting me down

Quite a strange experience today (not the first, but worth noting..). I wrote a gridskipper post last week about the coolest places to smoke after the ban in Paris, and then wrote it off (no pun intended) as a relatively uninteresting post doomed to virtual oblivion. The day before yesterday, a Guardian journalist, came to my place of work (Parisian palace) and asked me about smoking in and out of the hotel, if it was cool,etc, and then started asking questions about the other places I had blogged about... I realized immediately that he had seen my post, and had come to the City of Lights after having read it. I said nothing, but almost kicked myself afterwards for not having unveiled myself as the author... Then, walking to the Rival for a drink after work, I bumped into the journalist and told him everything. He told me that gridskipper was very cutting edge, and that he found my description of the Rival as the "poontang central of the Golden Triangle" a little far fetched as the place (afternoon time is always like this..) was full of old men smoking cigars. Can't wait to see the article. Proves that the Guardian seems to know where to find the real deal. Now, if only I can figure out how to get a few freelance gigs with them..

CPH

Cantada II - lucid night

The cast:
Failed/Useless Food Writer/Hospitality Slave (ie, "Yours Truly")
Luisa: Travelling-uber-chef/Talk-Show Host, Mega-Fixer, bloggeuse-extraordinaire
Heather: Smoking hot yankee hack and guidebook writer
Peter: absintheur, historian, niche businessman wunderchild and all around nice guy
Daniel: white-hot young yank chef in the City of Lights, bored of his golden existence, yearing for something new, soon to travel afar...
David, famous cookbook author,experienced pastry chef and expat
Olivier, funny guy, from a wine family, with his own special, unique tour company , highlighting France's wines..
... and assorted side characters..

Place: the Cantada II, Paris' (France's?) finest absinthe bar, retrofitted funnily enough into a strange goth/punk bar, peopled with aging New Music fans of all kind and persuasion (perversion?).

Fuelled by Pete's extraordinary absinthe offerings (100 year old Berger anyone?), this turned out to be a unique and enjoyable evening.

Funniest (most illuminating?) moment: A newbie, when proffered the ultra-rare, pre-prohibition CF Berger absinthe to taste, tipping back the contents of the glass into his mouth , then proclaiming, with a shrug of his shoulders :"Tastes like Ricard". Puzzled sigh coming from Peter's corner..Heathens never die..