You know it’s the End of The World’ when your son takes YOU to lunch.
You, really, know it’s the End of The World when the place is called La Fin Du Monde (French for End Of The World), but at least you’ll have one last fine meal.
You suspect it’s all a ruse when the bill gets handed to you and you wish you’d had a Whopper instead of being told one.
C’est la vie, mon frere!
I’d rather be at the End Of The World with my children, in a fancy restaurant, and a slow gin fizz at the ready…
|Made without egg whites.
Fluffed with a high-pressure air gun
topped with orange zested powder.
|A Caprese Salad.
I asked for the bacon on top.
I’m an Epicurean.
|Tyler had the chicken club.|
|La Fin Du Monde
2917 Magazine St.