My cup runneth over...

Well, actually it broke.

One of my favorite tea rooms in Paris is called Angélina. It's a lovely space on the rue de Rivoli where you apt to find well coiffed silver haired women with poodles in their laps as well as Japanese tourists waiting in line for a lovely table surrounded by Louis XVI chairs. We go there not for the tea (for that I prefer Mariage Frères in the Marais) but for the chocolat à l'africain. The lovely serveuse, in her black skirt and crisp white blouse, will bring a pot of THE thickest, richest hot chocolate that you have ever tasted. It pours like motor oil and comes accompanied with a bowl of crème de chantilly and the requisite pitcher of water for the mere taste of the chocolate elicits thirst. No need to order any pastries or cakes, the chocolate is enough.

A few years ago, my dear friends gifted me a set of chocolate cups from Angélina. They're made of white porcelain and are low and broad with Angélina inscribed around the lip in green script. Each morning, I take my tea (preferably Marco Polo or Pleine Lune by the aforementioned Mariage Frères)in one of these cups. It has to do with my commitment to the "quality of life". It's a slice of luxury, refinement and grace. It's my 3 minutes of escape, it's my ritual. Well, until the other day, when Evan came to tell me that Candi, our nanny, had broken the cup and saucer. They were both afraid to 'break' the news.

But you know what? I wasn't upset...it's a broken cup. I can get another one. It's fragile like life, but my kids are alive!!! I'd trade an Angélina cup for them anyday of the week...

And anyway, I said I had two didn't I? Cups and kids...