A fantastic oasis Art Nouveau for a dinner.
Days are getting longer and longer, the echo of the summer steps approaches.
Nothing more suitable than a restaurant called “la Cigale “(the Cicada).
They say it’s the most beautiful “brasserie” of France, maybe of Europe, maybe of the whole world…why not?
Since one decides to exaggerate, then it’s better to exaggerate in the exaggeration, or else it’s not worthwhile.
Then if we think that something or someone or some place is the best, they really become the best, because it’s on us to decide how to fix a personal scale of values.

Nevertheless “la Cicale” is a splendid place.
The merciless and too warm evening prevents us from taking a table inside and we conquer a precious table in the sidewalk terrace.

The advantage of ants is that they can become temporarily cicadas, if they feel like and it marks a change in their routine.
Then they are free to take their role of ants again whenever they want.
But a cicada cannot be an ant; cicadas are condemned to remain trapped in their frivolous style, which become just a habit after a while.
Because everything really enjoyable must not be continuous, or else nobody can perceive its strong and deep flavour anymore.

Obviously there is not any contraindication in repeating the experience as often as it’s possible.

We are cicadas this evening

We have one of our usual chaotic conversations made of laugh, silence, streams of words, depth and frivolousness all at once.

Then we simply get amused looking at details, finding inspiration in what people do around us, with a little surrealistic self-irony and a bit of extravagant fancy.

Here we were fascinated by the man of the lemons.
By our table there was a stall, destined to show all the seafood, oysters and other delicatessens from the ocean.
During all the time of our dinner, a very serious and distinguished man, all dressed in black, with a long white apron simply cut carefully the two ends of an incommensurable number of lemons, with inspired attitude.
The lemons were not cut in half, they were not sliced.
They were just deprived of a little bit of their two extremities.
When there was a gigantic heap of them, all properly cut, the distinguished man put all them into a big basket and disappeared, with the lemons, inside the restaurant.
We had not any further news of him.