After grabbing lunch and Thanksgiving goodies at La Madeleine, I dodged and careened and defensively made my way home amidst holiday mayhem on the roads.  People in Dallas are inept drivers at best, and selfish assholes as a given.  Driving today is an exercise in self-defense and pure hope for survival.

But I made it safely and am now enjoying the fruits of my labor: lunch from La Madeleine.

Sliced turkey with cheddar and tomato on a flaky croissant, a wild field salad with balsamic dressing, pasta pesto, a cup of tomato basil soup, and a few pieces of appropriately crusty baguette.  One must demand a semblance of civilization after being assaulted by the mindless idiots of this not-so-fair city.  To reward myself for braving the war zone of Dallas’ roads, I now enjoy a late lunch of wonderful French cuisine that is but a simple offering to a simple man—yet it’s utterly delicious.  The warm and cold, the bitter and sweet and salty, the rough and smooth textures… It all beguiles the palate and nurtures feelings of contentment in the tummy.

I deserve this.  Having subjected myself to the horrific deluge of insanity while jostling with uppity, attitude-ridden, contemptible Dallasites in the restaurant, and then to deal with them yet again on the roads in what is obviously the beginning throws of the holiday driving mishmash, sitting now at my desk and consuming delights sent from the tables of Olympia itself is much-deserved compensation for not killing anyone while I was out.

So I return you to your regularly scheduled program whilst I feast like a king—nay, like a god, and thereby silence the once-rumbling stomach with nectar from heaven.