A short story for starters.

Some years ago I was working and living in the 12th in Paris.

Waking late one Saturday morning, as one does, I really wanted some roast chicken and a small salad for my lunch. Fine - should be no problem. I lived just off a square, Place Daumesnil, around which were many real food shops, bakers, grocers and butchers. Yes - they still exist in Paris.

Choosing the butcher that was closer to me and which also had a rotisserie working hard making roast chicken and potatoes, I entered the shop.

"Bonjour messieurs-dames", as is the custom.

"Bonjour Monsieur" came the reply. "What is your desire?"

"Aah" I said. "I would very much like half a roast chicken and some potatoes for my lunch."

A look of crestfallen sorrow crossed Madame La Patronne's face.

"Navrée Monsieur"
- more than just sorry. This means absolutely destraught.

"All the chickens have been sold and it is too late now to cook another for lunch."

Then a beaming smile. She lays her hand gently on my sleeve and says

"But if you would like to come back at four-thirty, we could choose a nice one together for your supper."

Where else in the world will you find care and attention like that in the middle of a busy city?
That is why I love France and the French.